


Sherlock: 221b Playlist

by SouthernLolita



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, BAMF Anthea, BAMF John, BAMF Mycroft, Death, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Relationships, Family Drama, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Heroin, Hurt/Comfort, John is a Bit Not Good, Light BDSM, Multi, Omega Sherlock, PTSD, Sherlock is a Mess, Suicide Attempt, Tags May Change, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unrequited Love, may have errors so deal with it, mistress irene, spy AU, unbeta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 23,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernLolita/pseuds/SouthernLolita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshots inspired by music, I'm new to writing for this fandom so response will determine if i end up doing a multi chapter.  If you guys think I am good enough !</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

OK so this will be a collection of one shots based on music, you guys know me for that lol. What can you expect? well I ship a lot of pairings in this series though there will be a large portion of Johnlock. You can also expect both cannon and Au, or alternate views on post fall / return. Also don't be afraid to request a song or pairing I'm open tho anything creatively even if its not my otp I will give it my best shot.

Also if you know me you know I love to destroy your feels so have a hankey handy for the tears will be unleashed.

I look forward to your comments and follows depending how this fandom experiment goes I may consider doing a multi chapter sherlock fic in the future.

As Always Comment Love Vote Follow ! And Happy Reading!


	2. Track1-Someone like you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone like you. - Adele
> 
> Johnlock one sided

_" he's getting married Sherlock, you have to let him go."_

That's what his brother had told him, that's what logic told him...but then there was that pesky little thing called sentiment. What troublesome thing Caring was, Mycroft had always warned him against it and now he knew why. Because he was different, he shouldn't have expected things would be just like they were before. Shouldn't have assumed John was going to wait for him. The world kept turning after the Fall, maybe it wobbled in spots but it didn't stop. Sherlock had missed his chance and the eleventh hour had passed. Knowing all this didn't take away the sting.

_" I want you to be my best man."_

How could he say no to John Watson? After all the adventure, the pain, the friendship... he could never deny John because with out his jumper wearing little army doctor Sherlock Holmes would be completely and utterly alone. Then again, John wasn't his anymore was he? Maybe he never really was his to keep, at the very least Sherlock had done a poor job at keeping him. He wasn't good at that sort of thing though, he didn't have friends... just one.

_"...so know this; today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this world. "_

Sherlock did his duty, stood there at the behest of his best friend with a smile plastered on his face. He gave a speech that brought tears to the eyes, wished nothing but the best for Mr. & Mrs. Watson, he did it all right. Watched the happy couple dance and chatted with guests... all wonderful played lies. Holding back the bitter taste that festered in his throat every time he glanced at the blushing bride.

_" you look sad when you think he can't see you."_

He went home alone to Baker street and trudged up those stairs, just like a million times before. Taking off that horrid tux and atrocious yellow tie. Tossing aside like the fabric like it burned, he found himself sulking in his chair alone staring at the empty one across. Molly was right, he did look sad when john wasn't around.

_" there's ...something I've wanted to say something I've always been meaning to tell you"_

His voice choked on the words, words that meant nothing in the silence of 221b, because the person who needed to hear them most was off enjoying his new life. A new life without Sherlock Holmes.

_" I... I love you John."  
_


	3. Track2-Almost Lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost Lovers. - A fine frenzy
> 
> Post Fall
> 
> John centric
> 
> Johnlock

_" Keep your eyes fixed on me  ... Please will you do this for me...  this is it, my note.. that's what people do isn't it? ... I'm a fake ... Goodbye John."_

John shot up in bed the sweat making the sheet cling to his chest, he had the nightmare again. He wouldn't find sleep again tonight, not with that horrible memory playing on loop every time he closed his eyes.

He wanted to scream to cry, but since that day it was just a dull horrible ache that wouldn't give an inch. When he was able to shed tears it did nothing to ease the grief that stabbed through his very soul. Nothing helped because nothing would bring Sherlock back. " Just one more miracle that's all I ask, just stop.. stop this, stop being dead." how many times had he made that wish?

How many times did he have to blink away the hazy image of his flatmate bent over a some experiment in the front room, making wild hand gestures... sitting in that blasted leather chair talking to a skull. The beautiful madman he was.

How much longer would John awaken in the morning and swear he could hear the melodic notes of a violin floating through the apartment. Only to dash down the hall with unyielding hope, hope to find this was all a bad dream and see his detective swaying before the window in the morning sun. Gliding effortlessly with the instrument he had so cherished in life. How many times that hope was crushed, the name of a dead man falling from his lips in an empty room.

John Hamish Watson had survived war. He had been shot, had been captured by mafia assassins, followed after a man everyone said would get him killed one day. But this... losing Sherlock, he wasn't sure he could survive this.

John stood before the wardrobe in his former flatmates room, he had taken to sleeping in Sherlocks' bed a few months after...it happened. He'd been fooling himself and now, what everyone else knew, what took him so long to know, now it was to late. The one person he loved most was gone.

Taking out a plum button down he pressed his nose into the collar taking in the warm scent that was complexly blended and yet perfectly suited to its owner. How pathetic this was seeking comfort in un-laundered garments, how shameful that only now John realized that he missed this smell. Only now when the tears came and his knees betrayed him crumpling his form and bowing to the remnants of a life to short. "Please... just one more miracle ..Sherlock ..just one just for me."

Johns blurry vision lifted looking to the open bedroom door, he staggered down the hall to the little table next to his chair. His gun was there in the drawer, the dark thought crossed his mind more than once these days. The deadly implement whispering sweet promises, he could follow Sherlock just like he always did. Then he would hear a voice of silken baritone, _'dull'_ it would say _' that's not my John'_ it crooned. That voice would always stop him and he never knew why. " I can't, I can't keep going with out you. I don't know how... I was so lonely and you gave me so much.. I just wish I could have told you,that I could have saved you. " John sobbed collapsing into his chair.

When morning came it was cold in the apartment as it always was and yet... he was warm, a blanket had been draped over him. Mrs Hudson no doubt. John got up to make tea noticing the time, 6am, that was very early for his aged landlady to be up and about. He paid this no mind, his mind too fogged to hear the soft click of the front door closing or tentative footsteps descending the stairs, had John bothered to look out of the window he would have seen a lanky hooded figure ducking into a waiting car. However doctor Watson did none of those things, he just padded back down the hall to dress for work, pausing only when his nose caught a breeze of cologne. He would smile sadly and shake his head blaming the occurrence as his own mind trying to comfort him. Because Sherlock was gone, and miracles... well.. they just didn't happen.


	4. Track3-Wrecking Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrecking Ball. - Miley Cyrus
> 
> Johnlock  
> Fall/return  
> non-con  
> John being a BAMF
> 
> warnings:Violence/torture

_"Sherlock!"_

Mercurial eyes snapped open hearing the echo of his former friends voice ringing through the empty night. But it wasn't real, it was just a memory stored in one of the many rooms in Sherlocks' mind. One that slowly broke him, he could still see that pained look on Johns' face.

_"no one could be that clever."_

_" you could.."_

Sherlock sat up against the dingy cell wall remembering Johns' words, " you always believed in me.. my Doctor Watson, you believed even when I didn't. I understand now John... there is an advantage in caring, my caring will keep you safe."

He had been captured by some thugs some where in eastern Russia, he had been sloppy. The great Sherlock Holmes made a mistake that cost him dearly. Now he was chained up in this hell hole being tortured day after day. He would zone out during the beatings and cower in his mind palace cherished rooms that were all John. It would be worth it if he died here protecting John, Mrs. Hudson, Di Lestrade even that irksome Mycroft who was more than capable of taking care of himself. I would all be worth what Sherlock had learned his past year since his supposed death, he wasn't a sociopath after all. Because he loved them all, because he gave up everything for them.

Shouting brought the consulting detective out of his thoughts only to be meet with a bucket of ice water bing thrown on his already frail form. They thought he was a spy, an mi6 operative. It was better that way, it was better because he knew no national secrets, none of much Import. Unless they wanted to know how he had deduced that 11 male members of Parliament were currently cheating on their wives,4 of those with other men. Or that several more were frequent drug users and 2 who had a fondness for wearing ladies knickers . Doubtful that's what they wanted to know. However anything Sherlock deemed as dull he deleted, he had a tendency to only retain the interesting and embarrassing bits, none of which would save his life at the moment.

How long had he been here? Mycroft knew he was alive they would check in every few months perhaps if the date passed the British government might take notice.

Thankfully they did.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

"why am I here Mycroft." John Watson said tersely sitting down across form the elder Holmes whom had of course abducted him from the Tesco.

Only this time it was different, they both looked worn and that surprised John. He of course was still very much in morning for his flatmate Sherlock, but he thought that the mans own brother hadn't cared. Mycroft didn't go to the funeral, he didn't behave any different. However right now Watson could see the age on the others face and worried lines around those eyes so like Sherlocks.

Mycroft steepled his fingers and took a breath, " There's something I must tell you doctor Watson and it is of the up most Importance that it not leave this room. It will be difficult to understand but please know it was never meant to turn out like this."

Something sparked in John as he shot up out of his chair sending it clattering behind him, he knew. The look on the others face, the tightness in his posture. He didn't live with that mad man Sherlock and not learn a thing or two about deduction. There was only one thing, one person who could put Mycroft Holmes off this much.

" he's alive isn't he, damn it Mycroft!' John's barely contained rage caused his nails to cut into his palms. " A year and a half Mycroft.. Eighteen bloody months of pure hell ! one word that's all I needed! Where the hell is he I'm gunna punch that prat right in his nose!"

"I...I don't know." Mycroft stood up and paced away. "I don't even know if he's still alive."

The anger shattered, like being hit with a wrecking ball. "what.." to find out Sherlock was alive but then... sure he wanted to hit him but he also wanted to kiss the breath out of that brilliant sociopath. It had taken losing Sherlock to realize that he loved him more than anyone or anything, it broke John to pieces.

"I mean exactly as I have said, Sherlock faked his death to take down Moriartys' crime ring. I aided him in doing so and have been keeping track in his movements over Europe and the Middle East. Unfortunately, I believe he has been compromised. Our last contact was during his infiltration of a cell in Russia. Despite my influence it appears someone with in her Majesties government is blocking my every attempts to send in a retrieval team. That, John Watson is where you come in."

John didn't question the plan, he was a soldier and now he had his marching orders. It had to be him, the elder Holmes would trust no one else with the safety of his little brother. Even if it started a war, John finally understood the love that the supposed ice man had for Sherlock.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Sherlock drifted in and out they had strung him up against the wall a few days ago maybe more. He'd since been whipped an approximately 7 times. Each session lasting to his estimation 40 to 60 minutes, he could have been note accurate but blood loss dulled ones senses. He knew the man that carried out his torture was a smoker, with a speech slur from a insufficiently repaired cleft pallet and most likely impotent which is why he had likely never been married, because any woman who could get passed his disfigurement and slur would inevitably be disappointed in his lack of prowess in the bedroom. Said thug did not take kindly to these deductions.

Sherlock tested his shackles, he mildly considered all of the blood on his arms and wrists might work as a effective lubricant and he could slip his hand out. That proved false, such a disappointment that was. "I'm sorry John it looks like I'm not coming back." he murmured into the darkness. " I have been running for my life all over the globe, I've killed...so many people for you and you will never know."

That's when the tears finally came, he had never cried for all the force and pain that had been inflected on him but this, realizing he had lost. He would never see his John again... it wrecked him to the core. A bitter sob ripped from his throat, the sound a horse screaming wail that turned the stomach. " I don't want to die... please.. I'm not finished yet! "

His vision blurred with tears and darkness crept in at the edges, he didn't hear the sounds of gunfire just beyond the confines of his prison.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Four guards at the door, the silencer made it almost too easy taking each in rapid secession. John dropped those men with out batting an eye. He wasn't concerned with surveillance, the place was little more than an abandoned bunker running off a generator. All the power was concentrated on the few lights and likely a single set of rooms for heat and water.

Once inside two men sitting at a folding card table were surprised by the former soldier as he came around the corner putting matching slugs through their brains before they could even draw a weapon. However, a third man had been in an adjacent corridor and saw the blonde haired assassin. Thus the firefight began, After returning fire John quickly reloaded. rolling from behind the small half wall where he had managed to take cover. His bad shoulder protested but it didn't matter. It felt like an eternity when in reality the gun battle that only lasted a few minutes. Once silence fell John cautiously emerged weapon at the ready, one man was still alive clutching at a neck wound that spurted blood. He started up at the stocky man above him, John glared back placing a boot n the center of the mans chest and pointing the muzzle between the villains eyes. " Captain John Hamish Watson, you took something very precious to me, I've come to take it back."

The trigger gave and the battle was over.

John ran through the compound finding a set of locked doors, he used the keys he'd lifted from one of the dead men. The sight that he was met with stole away whatever composure he had in him"

"Sherlock!"

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

There was that voice again, ringing in the dark corridor of his mind. Was this what it was like to die? Being taunted by the most hurtful things you had ever done? Sherlock wondered briefly if he had been wrong about there being no God. Maybe this was hell, having to relive the hurting the man he loved.

"Sherlock, Sherlock ! Come love its me its John, open your eyes."

That was new, sherlock was sure he never heard that before. Suddenly he felt weightless the tension in his shoulders was gone and the cold was gone to.

"Please please! Come back to me Sherlock, please I forgive you just open your eyes!" John pulled off his jacket wrapping it around Sherlocks broken and frame form. He could hardly recognize the man under all the filth and dried blood. Johns' only comfort found in the sluggish but still measurable pulse. " I just got you back and I will not lose you again you hear me Sherlock Holmes! I will not watch you die again."  
  
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
Sherlock felt so warm opening his eyes in one of his mind palaces many rooms, this one looked like the garden at his grandmothers home. He was laying in the lush grass watching as the clouds floated past each one flashing images.  
  
 _"You being all mysterious with your ...cheekbones. And turning your coat collar up so you look cool._ "  
John, his wonderful little Doctor he always got so flustered.  
  
 _"Somebody loves you! If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid the nose and teeth too"_  
Oh The Woman had only been right, how he pray she had been right.   
  
_"Are you wearing any pants?"_  
 _.".No."_  
 _"Okay."  
_ Sherlock had to laugh, for someone who owned several finely tailored Bespoke suited he'd ended up in nothing but a bed sheet in Buckingham palace. They had such good times together, it was sad to think it was all over now .   
  
_"You machine!"  
_ That one hurt, that one cut right to the quick. Johns' look of complete and utter disappointment. He was right. Looking back now Sherlock was glad that wasn't the last conversation they had, as selfish as it was.   
  
_"Good-bye, John."_  
At least, I got to say good bye.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
"Oh dear God...Oh Sherlock" Mycroft Holmes had no idea what to say when the black helicopter touched down out side the private house he had dispatched the medical team pre Dr. Watsons instructions.  In his mind he had deduced the likely hood of his brothers condition being grave indeed but actually seeing it. Watching John Watson and a crew of hand selected specialist transport the unconscious body of the boy he sill saw as a child so often, it broke his heart.   
  
It took hours before John exited the room the team had disappeared into. He looked ragged as he slid down the wall pulling off the solid rubber gloves and tossing them in a near by bin. " He's alive."  
  
"Thank you Mr. Watson."  
  
"Mycroft..aren't you even going to be hear when he wakes up?" John looked at the politician as the man turned to leave.  
  
"He didn't come back for me Mr. Watson, I think you and I both know that. Rest assured i will give my little brother a firm reprimand for worrying us all when the time is right. "  
  
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
The next time Sherlock opened his eyes everything hurt. Why?  Looking around the world began to gain definition and color, this was a hospital? No ..to nice and no horrid watercolor on the wall. No this was private ah of course ..Mycroft. Seemed he wasn't dead after all so that was a bonus, but then how did that happen? Sherlock sifted quickly through his catalogs of memories but for the life of him couldn't find data on the escape. This was troubling, he never liked not knowing things.   
  
He flexed his fingers to test mobility, Left hand..good..Right hand..oh there's something..no..there's..Shifting his eyes to the right he saw a head of scruffy blond hair resting on the bed next to his hip, he felt a hand holding his.   
  
"..J-john.?."  the words felt like sandpaper  
  
The body next to him woke with a start, dark blue eyes and a kind smile regarded him. It was real, It was John Watson, smiling and holding his hand..willingly!   
  
"Hey you, you've been out for a few days I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up."John reached up with a gentle touch threading his fingers through Sherlocks hair.  "Listen, Mycroft told me everything, I wont lie I am cross with you for faking your death mind, I'm not going to let you off the hook for that one. But I know why you did it, the fact that you almost really did..." John choked up some looking away to compose himself a moment.  " I can't carry on properly with out haveing you living and breathing do you know that? I was a wreak and I realized everything I missed, your silly moods, your distaste for the deerstalker."  
  
"Death..Frisbee" Sherlock corrected. This garnering a smile form John.  
  
"Yes, shut up now I'm trying to make a deep sentimental confession here you prick."  
  
"Sorry continue"  
  
"Any way, point is...your a disaster unto yourself but in the most beautiful sense of the world. You turned my world upside down and there was no walking away from the chaos whole, because I lost half of my heart that day out side Barts. I lost it ...because it belonged to you. "Johns hand gripped his and placed a light kiss over his knuckles.   
  
"John I, I don't think you would want.."  
  
"I'll always want you Sherlock, so the next time you go off taking on criminal mastermind's. I'd like to get the invite as-well, so someone will be there to patch you up when you do something daft."   
  
They both smiled at each other like old times, a few dry giggles between them.   
  
Sherlock groans a bit scooting over patting the side of the bed. "Well come on then Captain Watson, seeing as I require a body guard you better start now. "  
  
John climbed up onto the bed. "Yes you win." Pulling Sherlock gently to his chest letting the other rest his heat over his heart.   
  
"John.."  
  
"Yes Sherlock."  
  
"I love you."   
  
"I love you too."

 


	5. Track4-Criminal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criminal by Britney Spears  
> Molly/Moriarty  
> NonCannon 
> 
> An: inspired by this song and the Pic of these cosplayers from Russia, they are ...amazing ..I loved this so yeah here we go.
> 
> And lets face it ladies...Moriarty is crazy cakes but adorable XD

This was....crazy, this was...insane, this was....thrilling.   
  
Molly pushed open the old steel door  revealing a massive empty room and like filtering in through the block glass windows. There was one other thing tho, the person she came her to see the request she should have denied and yet here she was.   
  
Was she so weak? Or did she just have a thing for Sociopaths..  
  
"Hello Jim"   
  
Her voice seemed to loud bouncing off the concrete and steel beams, the man whom she was addressing stood in an impeccable Westwood suit illuminated by the window. He turned his head over his shoulder, his features half obscured in shadow.   
  
"I didn't think you'd come. Such a pleasant surprise that the little kitten seeks out the wolf, are you stupid or no, no your not are you..it's curiosity. Perhaps I misjudged you Molly."   
  
She stood quietly feeling vulnerable under those dark eyes. Even so she shiver along her spine urged her steps closer. "Curiosity killed the cat didn't it?"   
  
Moriarty clapped his hands spinning around. "Clever! Indeed it did but satisfaction!...brought her back. Much like a dear friend of ours."   
  
Her stops stalled, she didn't like to talk about Sherlock.. for a number of reasons. It was always in the back of her mind though if Jim would ask her to betray her Friend. It wouldn't be far fetched would it? Then again she also wondered if what Sherlock said about Jim was true and maybe the mans fascination with the consulting detective was similar to her own. That hurt to.   
  
"Ooooo I can hear the wheels turning from here honey, no need to get antsy now. I didn't ask you here to mess with Sherly." the souls of his loafers taped slowly as he  walked toward her. Each step matching the pulse in her neck just visible about the collar of her shirt. " I wanted to see you Molly, you...interest me, before you ask... Dear Sherlock was only half right about me."  
  
"oh.."   
  
She felt slightly stupid now.. that was all she could say? Standing in a room with a Criminal genius could do that to you though.   
  
Moriarty lifted her chin with a cold gentle touch, "Tell me something, when your elbow deep in corpses..do you ever think of me? "  
  
Molly swallowed thickly her pupils dilating lost in his gaze. "On occasion."    
  
"I'm so flattered." He spoke just above a whisper leaning down to capture her lips in a chaste kiss.   
  
When the mad man pulled away he smirked at the blush on the lovely young coroners cheeks.   
  
This wasn't rational, she should run away she should be disgusted. But she wasn't, this was physical attraction and nothing seemed to stop it as her hand shot out griping the mans tie and jerking him back for a searing kiss that she dominated fiercely.   
  
"Hello Nurse! I think I got burned on that one lovely, yes..I think this will be fun indeed."   
  
Molly stepped back surprised in herself as-well. "I ..should be getting back to Barts."  
  
Jim smirked licking at the traces of shimmery lip gloss left from her kiss. "Parting is such sweet sorrow. " He  flourished a bow kissing her hand. "Until next time ."


	6. Track5- When she says baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When She Says Baby. - Jason Aldean
> 
> Mythea - Mycroft × Anthea

It was no small task insuring that the British government was prepared to start his day, and for Mycroft Holmes' PA Anthea, it was a job she did gladly.

For the man in question though, where pleasantries and formalities were as easy as breathing, not a word in any of the various languages he knew could compare to the one phrase uttered from her perfect lips time and again. That soft word of sweet endearment that perhaps most would say he didn't deserve.

_" Morning Baby."_

A shiver down his spine as that sensual voice purred into his ear, even if that was all she said for the duration between glances clacking away on her mobile preparing the days schedule.

This thing they had was quiet and steady, it happened all by accident and yet in those moments of sweet out of control emotion  Mycroft would later deny, had been the most thrilling of his life. To have the attentions of a beautiful creature such as she? Considering how difficult he could be?  
  
~§£~§£~§£~  
  
Mycroft entered his home in a foul mood, Sherlock being difficult per-usual. He stormed over to the collection of fine crystal decanters of Brandy pouring himself a glass. Had he been a man of less decorum he might have put his fist through the wall. Thankfully for the state of his drywall he had enough self control to simply flex his fingers as the amber liquor washed away the edge in his ire.  
  
So annoyed in fact he hadn't heard the patter of stocking clad feet until he heard the sweet voice of their owner. _"Come here baby."_   
  
Turning around the politician nearly dropped his drink. Standing there leaning in the door frame clad in one of his dress shirts, and a pair of  thigh high nylons holding a plate of chocolate cake stood the one woman that could render him speechless.   
  
_"Come on now, this is better than the brandy."_ She wink taking a bite of the desert.  
  
He wasted no time crossing the room to her, brushing a hand over her cheek with a sincere smile. "I'm not sure there not sweeter things my dear."  
  
~§£~§£~§£~  
  
"So whats the plan?" John Watson inquired as He followed Sherlock, like always the detective could never do things the simple way.  
  
"Elementary my dear Watson!" The brunette said theatrically clapping his hands. "You will distract the fat git known as my brother. Tell him you have cake I'm sure that will work, while your doing that I will break into his computer and download a few files onto this jump-drive."   
  
"Or you could just ask him."   
  
Sherlock whirled around pulling that face that said ' I cant believe you just suggested something so horribly boring'  "John...lets leave the plan making to the genius, when I would like tips on how to remove shrapnel I will consult you."   
  
John simply rolled his eyes and followed after his partner as always.   
  
The younger Holmes brother, intended on simply storming in and pretending to be in stroppy mood, Mycroft was usually keen to blame others for that and that's where his lovely little Doctor Watson came in...as cannon fodder. It would be perfect! ...well it was perfect until Sherlock through open the doors to his brothers office and stopped dead in his tracks.   
  
This would take hours to delete... and lots of take away to comfort the mental scars he now had. Because there was Mycroft Holmes with pants down around his knees and his Assistant with her skirt bunched around her ribs sprawled across his desk.   
  
They both looked up making eye contact for a brief moment before the doors slammed shut.   
  
"Never Mind lets go NOW JOHN !" Sherlock pushed and shoved the shorter man ahead of him and out of the building. Behind them the cackling laughter of a woman could be faintly heard through the mahogany doors.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Track6-Flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song - Flesh by Simon Curtis  
> Pairing: Irene Adler / Molly Hooper  
> Yuri Warning and BDSM  
> Non con

Molly had made the call, she had heard Sherlock talk about.. The Woman. She knew what she was doing the moment she got her hands on Irene Adlers contact information. Something in her hummed with approval as her fingers skimmed over the numbers and made the appointment. Curiosity ..or no, it was deeper than that. She wanted this she always wanted this the problem was finding someone who could give her what she needed..what she craved.  
  
For so long she had hoped it would be the consulting detective that would take her with those elegant hands ..she had envisioned it hundreds of times. Long nimble fingers tight around her throat, that silken baritone speaking into her ear. Ordering her onto her knees.  
  
It was never to be, she knew that. She had seen enough proof of who Sherlock Holmes really was. What he really was... deep down he was the same kind of animal as her. She could see it in the way his hands trembled when John Watson raised his voice. No, he wasn't the one who could provide the relief for that itch she needed scratched.  
  
Molly sat in the morgue alone, the lights were off save for the soft glow of a single exam light over a steel table. Those were her orders, her skin prickled in goose flesh when the Letter was dropped off that morning. It was sealed in a black envelop, inside a high quality piece of parchment with finely hand pen script detail what would be expected of her.  
  
She flitted her eyes to the clock on the wall, it was time. On que the tap of high heels approached down the corridor outside. Closer and closer increasing her breath with anticipation.  
  
The young coroner sat on the exam table her back to the door, she leaned back her hands behind her clasping the cold steel lip of the table. Molly shivers wearing only a thin black slip, bare foot with no undergarments. All as directed, all she followed to the letter. Her hair was down,she had no jewellery on no make up. Nothing but silk and flesh.  
  
The Footsteps entered with a click of the doors locking mechanism that followed.  
  
"Eyes forward." The Woman..her voice sent chills along Mollys spine. It was everything she had hoped for.  
  
Irene Adler steeped behind her newest client, she smiled running her glossy red nails down the young womans arms, watching the flex of her hands gripping the tables edge at the touch.  
  
"From this moment on you will address me as Mistress. This session will last for two hours, I have noted your few limits and will abide by them.  During this session you will reach new heights of pleasure and be pushed beyond what you felt you where ever capable of feeling. Do you understand?"  
  
Molly swallowed letting out a breath, she was ready. " Yes Mistress"  
  
Irene smiled dropping the coat she had worn to the floor, her corset and stockings still unseen by her submissive; sure to be a feast for the eye. "Hmm, good girl I think for tonight  the safe word will be..Vatican Cameos." Her lips quirking at the little private joke only known to her.  
  


* * *

  
Molly found her self panting after only a 15  minuets in, bent over the exam table with her slip pulled lewdly over her bare backside. Irene was breath taking, powerful and poised. "P-Please Mistress! I..I can take more!" She moaned feeling a hand caressing and squeezing her already ruddy red buttock.   
  
"Such a greedy girl, On your knees  head to the floor, cross your arms at the writs above you." The order was smooth and swiftly obeyed.  
  
Molly stretched her self out on the floor shivered at the cold tile, it some how soothed the heat of her own skin. It was good, everything was so good. She jolted feeling a heel hook the hem of her slip,Irenes' shoe gliding along her back raising the garment up high until it lay about her shoulder blades pooled at the back of her neck.  
  
"Lovely, this is what you need isn't it ? What you want?" The voice of her Mistress teased.  
  
"Yes Mistress Please."  As soon as the words were out Molly gasped, her hair jerked back cruelly. The sharp pain sending pleasure flooding down between her thighs "Thank you Mistress!" 

* * *

  
Molly was trembling drooling as she lay tied on the exam table, her back and rear was littered in welts that stung beautifully underneath her. She looked up with glazed reverent eyes to her Mistress straddling her chest. The satin slip she had dawned an hour ago was gone forgotten on the floor.  
  
Warm hands caressed her face sliding down over her neck and down her chest, pinching and tugging at her dusty nipples . " Such a mess you have made. " Irene said looking back over her shoulders to the table now moist with fluid. "I  want to watch you clean it up." 

* * *

  
  
When it was over, Molly sat wrapped in a warm blanket. An Associate of Miss Adlers came  in at the end of the session. She poured them both tea and they now sat on the sofa in Mollys office. She was surprised with the tenderness Irene expressed. Checking her over with a kind smile, telling her how well she had done. The praise made her blush, she had expected the woman to leave but instead she remained allowing molly to rest her head on her leg, carding those brilliant red nails through her hair. " You know dear, I don't think paid appointments suit you. Your far to precious of a little gem to let go, i think instead a more ..permanent arrangement. "  
  
Molly smiled feeling complete for the first time.." Yes Mistress."


	8. Track7- Lies Greed Misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song- Lies Greed Misery - By - Linkin Park
> 
> This is BAMF Mycroft Centric !
> 
> This is Inspired by StickyRice and her Story Gestures so do check that out!

  
**12:15 Pm.**  
  
"If you want something done right, you do it your self." Mycroft Holmes said as he walked back to the long black car that awaited him. On the way the man known to many as the 'British government' slipped a pocket watch from his waist coat eying the ticking hands. A dangerous little smirk tugging at his lips as Holmes opened his trademark Umbrella. Not a moment latter the building behind him exploded with a ball of fire and hail of shattered debris.   
  
"Right on time" he commented before sliding into the back seat to direct orders to his driver. "Jeremy, I have a 1'oclock at the Diogenes, Anthea will send for you when it has concluded."  
  
"Very good Sir."  
  


* * *

  
**3:25 Pm**  
  
Mycroft sat in his office looking over various files and folders when his desk line rang.   
  
"Yes, I see well that is a bother but i suppose it can't be helped. I will be down shortly.. oh and do put plastic down its unsightly to filthy the floor." Hanging up the red phone he clicked his tongue in distaste. Really was everyone so incompetent?   
  
Taking the elevator of the government facility down to the basement floor everyone working on the lower levels seemed to freeze at the tell-tail sound of footsteps and accompanied tap of an umbrella tip. The Iceman, most dangerous man most would ever meet, and he did not looked pleased.   
  
Stepping into a room at the end of the long corridor of interrogation rooms a young agent of MI6 chewed at his lip nervously. "Mr.Holmes Sir, very sorry to interrupt you but it would seem that we have made no progress as yet with the captive."   
  
The older mans expression remained unmoved, by the time it took the baby-faced agent to utter that sentence Mycroft had already determined at lest 12 incredibly personal things about the younger man. Thankfully he had better things to do than point out to the magnitude of flaws and ask why on earth MI6 was scraping up mediocre Uni graduates to do serious work. No he simply looked down his nose causing the young man to cower away and open the door.   
  
"10 minuets, oh and have medical out side with an ice chest." he said before shutting and locking the door between them leaving the young agent with a confused and frightened face.   
  
Inside a man sat handcuffed in a chair, over plastic as requested. At least they where capable of following orders.   
  
"Mr. Abrin, you where arrested and taken into custody under a mater of national security. The construction of dirty bombs as it were. There is reason to believe that several of these explosives have already been placed and British intelligence would like to know where. So, let us make this simple for everyone and you tell me where they are."   
  
The captive laughed and spit in Mycrofts direction "go to hell Mr. Holmes, I know who you are and I do not fear some pudgy man in a three piece suit."   
  
Mycrofts eyes narrowed . "I see," he spoke softly hanging his umbrella on the door handle as he  removed his jacket and waist coat, laying them each carefully over a stool before rolling up his sleeves. It would be awful to soil them after all. "You have clearly been miss informed then, because if you truly knew who I was. I assure you that would indeed be afraid, however, it has been shown that there is a link between worry and fear to those with higher IQ's. One might consider this a juxtaposition of something that by evolutionary standards is supposedly disabling."   
  
As he spoke Mycroft left his umbrella from the door handle holing it horizontal eying the length as he paced leisurely left and right in front of the captive. " Fear, being linked positively with something intelligence. When all the signals it sends us lead us to believe if anything it should inhibit our adaptation." The was a soft click from the handle of the umbrella.   
  
"But things are not always as they seem Mr. Abrin." A smile predatory in nature crossed Holmes' lips as the slide of metal revealed the true nature of his prized accessory. A sword, " Fear as it turns out, is very adaptive."   
  
"Your bluffing." The man in the chair tried to school his features as a cold sweat broke on the back of his neck.   
  
"Am I?"   
  
With a swift flick of the wrist the blade swept down ward. Steel glinting in the florescent light as it relived three fingers from the terrorists hand. The man began to scream bloody murder as blood squirted from the stumps of his former digits. "Your MAD! "  
  
"No, I'm very busy and your wasting my time. Now I have exactly 5 minutes and 45 seconds before my patience will indeed run out. You will not wish to be here for that I can assure you, so where are the bombs?" 

* * *

  
**9:51 Pm.**  
  
It had been a full day for Mycroft Holmes, yet the day wasn't quite finished yet. After all Mummy would be disappointed if he did not check on his little brother.  
  
Pulling up to the crime scene Mycroft stood back watching Sherlock flounce this way and that rattling off things all the while his little goldfish the good Doctor Watson praised his intelligent.   
  
"John, come we have clues to follow the game is on!" Sherlock Called out heading off to follow a lead based on his deductions, however he scowled spotting his elder brother standing sentry at the police tape line.   
  
"What do you want Mycroft." Sherlock said dryly  
  
The elder Holmes lifted the yellow tape and walked over eying the body that lay face-down in the ally. " Just checking on you brother mine, can I not show interest in your Work?"   
  
Sherlock grimaced."You call interested I call it stalking, was there no Korean elections to keep you busy or perhaps you where out looking for a pastry shop and got lost."  
  
 Mycrofts face pinched a bit picking up the snickering form Dr. Watson and DI Lestrade. "Actually no, perhaps I shall lend you a hand you stupid little boy. Keep you from wasting time and dragging poor Mr. Watson all over London and no doubt causing more destruction in your wake for  DI Lestrade to clean up."   
  
"I do not need nor desire your help." Sherlock crossed his arms in a petulant manner.   
  
The perked the elder Holmes up to smirk. " How fortunate I was not making it a choice. Your victim is a Scot, the stagnant ring on her left hand. This is future confirmed by the mud on in the tread of her walking boots as the slight greenish hue is common for algae found in mud around lochs in Scotland. Given the freshness I would say your looking for one in close relation to the British boarder as she obviously arrived by car, yet she did not drive herself as she lacks the  mild scent of petrol a woman her high and build would tend to dribbled the gasoline on there shoes when reengaging the pump handle. There for someone else was with her and that is your murdered, i suggest checking her front pocket for a receipt and checking with the refuel station on there security cameras." A rather satisfied smile crossed Mycrofts face.   
  
Further prompted by Sherlocks indignant little huff. "Show off..." the younger Homles muttered, glaring sideways as his big brother.   
  
"That was...Brilliant." Lestrade gawked before ordering Anderson to check for the receipt which was of course found.   
  
"Come on John were leaving! " Sherlock flipped his coat dramatically causing John to scold him for behaving stroppy though the scolding was hardly holding any bite as the man then placated in the next breath quietly promising Sherlock tea and 'cuddles'. Something Mycroft would have truly not needed to hear.  
  


* * *

  
  
Just another day for the British Government. 


	9. Track-8-Cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song- Cry - by James Blunt  
> Johnlock  
> Warnings : discussion of -Drug use, self hatred, PTSD, and torture

John Watson had seen many things in his life- war and death had greeted him countless times. All he had seen and was able to keep functioning. Still, John wished he could forget some of the faces that would haunt him for the rest of his life.  
  
Among these things were also the worst of Sherlock Holmes. John had seen the man at his most brilliant and out of his depth when it came to the feelings of not only others but Sherlock himself. John Watson had watched Sherlock fight inner demons more times than John ever wanted to. The army doctor had even watched the detective 'die', that had been the most damaging thing of all.  
  
Accepting Sherlock back after that little stunt had been nearly impossible, but who was John kidding. He would always follow Sherlock Holmes.  
  
However, of all the things he had seen his flatmate still seemed disconnected. Maybe even more since Holmes's return, there was something heavy hanging on the taller mans shoulders. Something unspoken that clung to him like a second skin.  
  
That's why this moment shook John to his core. Not for the things he had seen, but for the things he didn't see, things he of all people should have seen.  
  


* * *

  
  
Sherlock hadn't expected John to comeback, he expected John to make up with Mary and live the life of a normal person.

The life John deserved.

Despite her lies as well as nearly killing him, Sherlock wanted his blogger to be happy and he felt like his chance to do that had passed. He wasn't what John wanted or needed, he wasn't what anyone needed. It all came crashing down around him, caring was not an advantage.  
  
He needed to numb those feelings before he drowned in them.

* * *

  
John hadn't announced himself when he came in as he usually did. Truthfully he wasn't sure what to say. _' I'm leaving Mary..I made a mistake..I want to come home.'_    It sounded feasible in the cab on the way over.

But now entering the dark quiet of 221B the words suddenly left him. They left because of the distant muffled sound traveling from the hall beyond the kitchen.

Sobbing.  
  
It was coming from.. No, that couldn't be right. John thought as he approached the door to Sherlock bedroom.

 But it was, the broken sound of a man whose heart was breaking into pieces. The sounds of the worlds only consulting detective letting out the emotions he worked so hard to pretend that he didn't have.

Johns hand trembled as he turned the knob to the bedroom, part of him begging to stop and flee this place. Part of him saying _he won't want you here, he wanted you to stay with Mary, your intruding, her doesn't need you anymore._ Watson trampled those thoughts, as he pushed the door open. He felt like all the air had been knocked out of him as he stared at Sherlock's hunched over shaking form.  
  
Pale skin riddled crisscrossing scars over his back. The vertebra standing out far to boldly, it was all so..wrong.  
  
"Sher..Sherlock..?"   
  
Pale red rimmed eyes shot back over a angular shoulder staring at him with such shame and fright.  Sherlock made a grab for the bedclothes to cover him self, choking on the strangled pleas of  "Get out!"  
  
John wasn't leaving. He couldn't not now not ever.  
  
Dr. Watson crossed the room and with out delay, and gathered up the taller man against him. No matter how hard Sherlock tried to push him away he didn't let go. Finally the man gave up, long trampling fingers clutching onto Johns jumper for dear life.  
  
Finally when the tremors stopped John pulled back to look at his friend and former flatmate. That's when he saw it, the marks on the detectives arms. A trail of treacherous little injection sites, all the other signs where there as well under the Doctors trained eyes. Constricted pupils that would not hold his gaze, pale skin, it broke Johns heart.  
  
"Sherlock .." John couldn't bring himself to ask why. After seeing what he just walked in on, seeing the state of Sherlock's body. He could already tell there was allot he didn't know and any number of reason that the brilliant detective could have fallen back on old demons.  
  
"Don't..just don't John..." Sherlock said, he felt ashamed enough for having john see him like this. Plus he could already feel the sensation ebbing from his limbs they felt heavy and his mind felt slow.  
  
"Right...right, we are going to talk about this just..just not right now." John took a breath and ran a hand over his face, entering Doctor Watson mode.  " is there any more in the flat, and don't you lie to me Sherlock I will call Lestrade if I have to."  
  
"No, had there been I would have used it as-well."  
  
That statement was very telling, and very frightening for John. 

* * *

  
Withdrawal is ..a hell of a thing.  
  
Cold sweats, fever, chills, vomiting, the terrible involuntary spasms.  
  
Nightmares, those where the worst. John knew the horror that could lurk in the dreaming mind, but this.. this was more. In those days since returning to 221b, John learned more about Sherlock through the haze of withdrawal babbled terrors that he had since the mans return.

The torture, the fear, all the things Sherlock quietly carried because he thought he wasn't 'human' and he wasn't 'normal' enough. That things would be better for john better for everyone if he hadn't come back. All these dark echos that choked out a brilliant mind and drove it to this.

Slowly the recovery began, and on the 6th night when things changed, as if they hadn't already. Perhaps though..this was the one thing John needed to know most. The one thing Sherlock needed to say the most.  
  


* * *

  
John came into Sherlock's bedroom, John had been sleeping on there on and off to keep an eye on his flatmate, he walked in to find Sherlock shirtless laying atop the duvet staring at the ceiling.  
  
"Sherlock, Alright?"  
  
"No."

John walked over to the side of the bed his brow furrowed as he began to check the detective over, Dr. Watson of course. Pulse, heart rate, pupils,temperature. It wasn't until Sherlock grabbed his wrists and looked him in the eyes that John paused.  
  
"John, there's something ..I have wanted to say... I never could because I didn't want you to leave."

"Sherlock of all the things we have been through I think you should already know I won't leave." John smiled sitting down on the side of the bed, his eyes lingering perhaps longer than he would like to admit.

" You did leave once John, because of me... I thought I would come back and things would be just as they had always been. I was selfish, I tried not to be. My brother always told me caring was not an advantage. It was so... tedious locking away how that part of me that wanted to scream because,..because you where being taken away from me."  Sherlock looked away trying to force himself, this was for John. His only friend needed the truth after all this time. John deserved that much.

John let out a sigh smiling sadly as he took one of Sherlock's hands in his own. "I told you, you don't have to keep apologizing. And I was never really taken away from you, if anything I almost lost you because of Mary and you still wanted me to forgive her. Your a good man Sherlock Holmes even if you don't realize it."

"No John, I'm not a good man. I never will be, because I lied to my only friend and told him I wanted him to stay with a woman who did not make him happy all because I couldn't bear to rejection of telling him the truth. A good man wouldn't have done that."  
  
John's brow creased as things began to fall into place. "Sherlock?"  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, " Yes John, have you figured it out now. I love you, I've loved you for such a long time. At first even I didn't realize how fully or how deeply and then ..all at once I came to the horrifying reality that you John Watson are my entire world. I even died for you."  
  
Silence.   
  
The thing Sherlock had feared most, his eyes glistened feeling the cracks forming in his carefully constructed walls. He pulled his hand away and rolled onto this side away from John, expecting the man to leave the room immediately.  he murmured into the pillow "don't worry, you have made it perfectly clear you are in fact very heterosexual. I do not intend to impose anything on you, I simply thought you should know."  
  
Suddenly the bed shifted and Sherlock found him self pulled over onto his back. John was now very very close to him.

"John..?"  
  
"Shut up Sherlock."   
  
John crushed their lips together dominating the detectives mouth with such hunger and desperation. He needed this, he wanted this, just like Sherlock had described... it hit him with such force that all this time. He loved Sherlock Holmes.  
  
He loved every part of the man, from his maniac tendencies to his tears.

Every brilliant infuriating inch.


	10. Far Away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Far Away -Nickelback  
> Pairing: JohnLock  
> Au: War Time  
> Tags: Soilder!John, Feels!, BAMF John  
> _______________________________________

The heat was bad enough leaving his body sticky and sweltering, but the grit of dust now coating his skin made it that much worse.   
Captain Watson couldn’t give up though, he had to trudge over bodies and creep along the walls of the ramshackle building with his gun at the ready. He had to calm his heart and train his mind because above all... he had to survive.  
Because someone was waiting for him.

* * *

  
The end of each day was a momentary bliss, war was hell and every hour pushed him to his limit as a doctor and a solider. It was in these quiet moments when the dark inky blue of the Middle Eastern sky was above and the still warm earth was below him that he could breathe. He could take out that slightly wrinkled piece of paper from his jacket and run his fingers over the deep creases before reading the words. 

  
_Dear John,_   
  
_London is very monotonous you know and I hate being bored. Where are you right now? I suppose you cannot tell me which is fine. Mycroft I’m sure could find out for me, not that I will do him any favors._   
_Gavin is well, he asked me about you at a crime scene the other day. I won’t bother with that it was dreadfully simple even Anderson and his infinite stupidity could have solved it. Lestrade thinks he’s doing me some service by summoning me out of 221b for these dull little cases. Honestly, it was not even a 3._  
         _Mrs. Hudson came by today, she brought those biscuits you enjoy and made tea. I don’t like her tea… It’s not comparable to the way you make it. She also scolded me on some experiments I had out on the table and in the refrigerator. Also, we will need a new microwave. Going into details of why would be tedious._   
  
_I hate waiting John… come home._   
_Love~ Sherlock_

  
  
He would smile at the words and cares the closing sentiment, realizing that for most the sing off would be an afterthought. However, for Sherlock Holmes it held the weight of the world in those four little letters.  
  


* * *

  
It all happened so fast.  
  
Chaos had erupted around him and john was scrambling to tug the younger men out from under the over turned Humvee.   
  
Patching wounds and shouting out orders, he had to keep them all alive.   
Just one bullet changed everything.  
  
John felt the pressure first and then the bright bloom of pain in his shoulder before he feel.  
“Captain Watson!” Someone shouted.  
He tried to concentrate on breathing. Inhale, exhale, just like that just relax. You’ve been shot. He kept trying to remain calm as the warm life giving blood soaked through his vest. He needed to live, he needed to get home.   
  
**Please.**

* * *

  
  
It was the middle of the night and Sherlock Homles was busy not sleeping, sleep was boring. He had a collection of mold spores he was looking at under the microscope when the phone rang.   
  
The tone was God Save the Queen so he ignored it. Just Mycroft being… Mycroft, Sherlock was more than happy to let his brother leave the customary message of “ answer your mobile Sherlock I know your there” Of course the British government knew that he was home. Mycroft probably had cameras all over the flat, Sherlock snickered at that idea. He should take to walking around completely starkers. That would teach the fat git.   
It wasn’t until the 3rd ring and no message alert that Sherlock finally had it and snatched the offending cellular off the table.   
“What is it Mycroft!”  
Silence.. His brother was never just silent, he always had some little quip or snarky remark. They where Holmes’ its what they do.   
  
“Mycroft, what is it.” This time his voice was softer more serious, the irritation at being pulled away from his slides now forgotten.  
The elder Holmes spoke carefully minding his tone and volume. After all he did worry constantly for his little brother and this, this was going to be hard. “Sherlock. It’s John, he’s been shot.” 

* * *

  
  
The entire world seemed to lose its color when Sherlock first heard those words. He needed to know more, Was john alive? Was the injury a serious one? Did he sustain any other wounds? Was it friendly fire or had there been a scrimmage? When did it happen? Where was he?   
The rapid fire demands were fielded as much as Mycroft had information for. Unfortunately he had only just been alerted an hour before and had been given the run around as to fining out the Doctors status.   
There had been a convoy ambush and there where many wounded including Captain Watson. As far as the information Mycroft could gather the man was alive.   
  
**Alive.**  
  
That was the one word that stood out the most for Sherlock, John was alive but for how long.   
“I need to see him, I need to be there Mycroft do you understand!”  
  


* * *

  
  
When John opened his eyes everything felt blurry, what time was it? If the hazy cool blue light of the room was any indication it was dusk or perhaps dawn?Oh but he was in a room, a hospital then.   
  
As his vision slowly started to clear his hearing followed, he could head something off to the side. Soft murmuring, and he could feel something on his hand. John turned his head and saw something he never thought he would.  
  
Sherlock Holmes looked..almost as if he was praying but not quite. His eyes where closed and his head bowed. However instead of clasped hands he held one of Johns.  Whispering against the weather and war torn tan skin.   
  
_"I love you, I have loved you all along. I even forgive you for being away from me. Leaving me surrounded by idiots. I missed you, I still miss you as sentimental and foolish as it is I even dream about you. So don't leave me John, I won't be able to continue on as I am with out you. So please, I've never ..I've begged in my life so please..please come back to me."_  
  
John curled his fingers around Sherlock's and the detectives head shot up. His light eyes rimed in red and glistening tears.   
  
"John.."   
  
Dr. Watson smiled tugging Sherlock's hand to his lips gracing those long pale fingers with a kiss.   
"Come on then.. I won't break" He said with a cheeky grin. Rather charming for a man who almost died on the battlefield a few days before.   
  
Still It didn't take much convincing before the good doctor had a consulting detective curled up on his hospital bed. All legs and and arms cling with a unexpected gentility.    
  
As Sherlock rested his head on Johns chest just listening to the older mans steady heart beat he said " You can't go back you know, and even if you could I wouldn't allow it. You will just have to occupy yourself here in London me. I assure you it won't be dull.  "  
  
John ran his fingers through the dark lush curls and down the back of his boyfriends neck. " I think I would like that. Now, go to sleep Sherlock."  
  
"Always so bossy John."  
  
"It's my job"  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. One Sweet Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song – One Sweet Day – Mariah Carey ft. Boys 2 Men  
> Pairing: Mystrade with johnlock mentions  
> Summary: Mycroft dose some soul searching after the loss of the DI, Turns out the Iceman isn’t so cold.

Mycroft Holmes had never been an easy man to get to know, yet somehow Gregory Lestrade had broken down the Iceman’s defenses. It had started as a joint effort to keep the younger Holmes brother out of trouble, after-all Mycroft constantly worried for Sherlock even if he wasn’t prone to brotherly affection.   
The DI could tell though that behind that aristocratic poise was a kind man with a lot of fear. Fear to lose, fear to give, and fear to be seen as weak by those who might use familial sentiments against him.   
It was always high walls and carefully worded statements with Mycroft. The few times he truly smiled or showed an ounce of his own personality was brief at best. Greg counted himself lucky to see the bit of humanity in the British Government.   
Overtime, Mycroft to begin to see the DI differently. Even for a goldfish; Greg was interesting. He was funny, honest. Dare he admit the man was handsome?   
  
It was then Mycroft knew he was in trouble.  
Greg Lestrade was for all purposes straight, he had a wife. Scratch that. **Had** a wife, the elder Holmes found himself analyzing the DI, deducing everything about him to try and figure him out down to cellular level if possible? It became a hobby of sorts during the time Sherlock was away.   
  
It was no surprise then upon the younger Holmes return he noticed his elder brothers newest obsession.   
  
“You like him.” Sherlock said passively easing down into his chair in 221B.  
  
Mycroft looked up from his tea, “Excuse me?”  
  
The younger man rolled his eyes, “Lestrade, you like him but you haven’t told him because you find him painfully heterosexual.”  
  
Mycroft nearly choked on his tea. “I do not _like_ Gregory, Sherlock… the DI is merely a means to an end of insuring you don’t make more of a mess than you usually do.”  
  
“Then why did you use his first name.”  
  
The elder Holmes looked up at the little smirk dawning his brother’s features. “You use Dr. Watson’s first name.”  
  
“Yes and I love him.” Sherlock said as if it was as natural as breathing, not even blinking to how strange it seemed falling from his lips. Clearly those two years of being a dead man had changed him.   
  
This time Mycroft did choke, sputtering the amber liquid in a rather undignified manner. “You what!”  
  
“I love him, and I’m going to tell him as much. I’ve been a ghost for far too long, I’d like to live for once. Maybe you should as well. I think you’ll find the DI isn’t all he seems. I’m really surprised you haven’t deduced that, are you slipping in your old age brother mine?” 

* * *

  
  
Sherlock was right, as much as his big brother loathed to admit it. There was something between the two older men, something DI Lestrade would not be opposed to exploring.   
Mycroft however found himself unable to be so bold as to say the words. “Tomorrow, perhaps the holiday. Over drinks or a nice dinner.” All excuses.  
These delays would cost him.

* * *

  
  
“Sir, there’s been a situation.”   
  
Mycroft looked up from his desk as his Pa entered. For once not staring into her phone, she looked him in the eye with an almost apologetic quality in her dark eyes.   
  
“Tell me.” He said placing his pen down and clasping his hands. Assuming his brother had gone and done something again or some national crisis had started. However if it was the latter he would have seen it coming.  
  
“There has been a shooting outside of Scotland yard. DI Lestrade was one of those injured, he’s been transported to St.Barts.”

* * *

  
Mycroft did not remember the drive to the hospital, he didn’t remember the walk in through the automatic double doors of the A&E. He didn’t remember the color of the waiting carpet or the ethnicity of the nurse who placed a cup of bitter coffee in his hands.   
  
What he did remember were the faces of Gregory Lestrades children, he had met the eldest girl a few times before. She was bright not like her mother who was absent even now. The young woman came in with her younger brother and sister, she sat next to him and didn’t say a word.  It was just comfortable silence as they waited.  
John and Sherlock came as well, the younger Lestrade children were oddly found of the consulting detective. Sherlock ended up with a lap full of napping 4yr old.   
When the Doctor came in John and Sherlock slipped out with the younger kids. The younger Holmes could tell right away the news wasn’t good. He didn’t say it though.   
Mycroft would always remember the young woman next to him grabbing his hand when the words came from the surgeon’s lips.   
  
“We did all we could, I’m very sorry, he’s gone.”  
Everything after that was a numb blur.  
  
Mycroft would have liked to think as he walked away he looked composed and stoic, not like a man fleeing. That he held on to the very last moment until he was alone in the service stair well before shattering completely. That the sob didn’t escape before the exit door was shut securely behind him.

* * *

  
  
The funeral was dignified, a police procession a sea of black umbrellas and red roses. It was everything the the man deserved. That didn’t make it any easier.   
After all the mourners had left a single black car was left dealing on the cemetery as a stately man in a 3 piece suit stood before a freshly lay grave marker.   
  
“Hello Gregory. My, isn’t this sentimental of me. Surely a man of my intelligence should know speaking to marble and dirt is meaningless. I don’t care though, I put this off far too long you see. I...I really must apologize for not being honest with you. For not telling you how I cared for you and now you’re gone. I never thought anyone could ever slip into my heart and somehow you became that exception. Your smile, your understanding, even your irritation it all kept me alive. You made me more Gregory, I wish I had had the courage to express that to you before now.” Mycroft took a breath to clear away the thick lump in his throat. It had been there all day taunting him.  
  
He’d refused to shed a tear, until now. One silent solitary droplet escaped trekking down his cheek and dropping to his black suit lapel. “I loved you, I will… always love you.”   
  



	12. I Need You Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song – “I need you now” – lady Antebellum  
> Pairing: mystrade  
> Summary: Greg reflects on his recent break up

It was a snap decision, Greg knew that. He was just so tired of feeling like another of Mycroft’s puppets, Holmes seem to always have an agenda. Even in their relationship, it felt like everything was on the younger man’s terms. Not to say that Greg felt the need to be the chest beating masculine type. He just wanted the chance to take the lead. To not feel like he was just ‘along for the ride’.   
  
Now however looking at the photos scattered on the floor of his flat, (the photo-album had fallen victim to an adult equivalent of a temper tantrum), and he could see he was wrong.   
  
He had shouted in a fit of anger and told Mycroft directly, “I’m done! Loss my number forget my face! You might be the bloody British Government and you might have some say over the Yard but don’t you stand there and Lord over me you posh bastard, I may not be as smart as you Myc but I’m not stupid.”  
  
That was three days ago, the fight the result of some ridiculous back and forth over vacation plans. It somehow exploded into how Greg felt disrespected. It was something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a long time but Greg never said anything. He had long ago come to terms with loving a Holmes not being an easy feat. John Watson could commiserate with that.   
  
Now regret was heavy and Lestrade hoped he had not thrown everything away. He reached for the phone typing out a text, he knew Mycroft did not favor them but it was better this way. He did not think he could muster this conversation over the phone.   
  
**Meet me? –GL**  
  
It felt like forever before the return message pinged.   
  
**The usual place? –MH**  
  
 **Yeah – GL**

* * *

  
  
It was a quarter after one and Mycroft Holmes lay alone on his big expensive bed in the master suite of is Camden home. It felt cold and lonely; he never thought he would be so affected by such things. When he started this relationship with the Detective inspector, he honestly believed that the inevitable end would come and he would graciously accept it. That it might be somewhat uncomfortable as the loss of anything that one had grown accustom to might be. However, this, he had not expected to feel completely paralyzed. The first day was numb and his day continued like it always had, the first night had been.   
  
_Hellish._

  
Going over in his mind the things the older man had said, he had no idea Gregory felt that way. He knew Lestrade could become annoyed but he hid all this resentment masterfully well. It hurt to know that Greg felt so under-appreciated, like little more than another of Mycroft’s employees did.  
  
By the 2nd day the iceman had worn thin, he opted to work from his home office. Feeling like a brooding teenager as he refused to change out of his pajamas and dressing gown. He was not near the imposing figure in the cream and blue striped cotton lounge pants.   
  
The 3rd day Anthea was left in charge. She had never seen the elder Holmes in such a state. While he claimed illness as the cause for his lethargy, she knew that was not the case. It was guilt, overwhelming guilt and sorrow for losing the first and only real love he had ever had.   
  
That night after a few heavy glasses of brandy, Mycroft had resigned himself to staring at the ceiling trying to work out some mastery of the control he had lost in the passing days. He needed to rebuild his walls; clearly caring was not an advantage.   
  
Until the text came.   
**Meet me? –GL**  
  
His through clenched looking at the simple request. He had to take it; he needed Gregory Lestrade to much to let him go.   
  
**The usual place? –MH**  
 **Yeah – GL**

* * *

  
Greg walked into the much nicer apartment in the more upscale part of London, surprised his key still worked. He would have thought after his blow up Mycroft would have had the locks changed. This was a place between both of their homes, a place that was not just one or the other but a bit of them both. It felt like home even more so that Greg’s flat, he would live in for years. He had missed it.  
  
When he slipped in he saw the Politician seated by the window, he could tell by the slight muss of his dark ginger hair and the light red of his cheeks and nose he’d had a bit to drink. That was unusual for usually ultra-composed man.   
  
“Your drunk Myc.” Greg pointed out the obvious not to be meant but more out of surprise.  
  
“A little,”   
  
Greg sat down on the love seat next to his…what where they now? Ex’s? Lovers? In some weird in between limbo, that was sucking the life out of both of them. That last one was about right.  “You never get drunk.”

  
Mycroft hummed in agreement before turning a par of light red rimmed eyes to the DI, “Indeed, But I’ve never been dumped either.”  
  
Now Greg felt like a heel, he really did not think this would have affected Mycroft at all. Maybe the man cared a lot more than he let on. If that was the case Gregory had been terribly wrong.   
  
“Look, Myc.”   
  
“no.” the younger man stopped him reaching out a hand. Mycroft had beautiful hands, long slender fingers, and piano hands. “No, I should apologize. It was never my intention to make you feel undervalued in our relationship. I am simply so used to doing things my way and this is all very new to me. This, caring about someone else. However, I would like the chance to try again, because...because I do immensely care for you Gregory. So much so that it’s consumed me these past few days.”  
  
Gregory smiled to himself leaning over to wrap his arms around the younger man who momentarily froze in surprise. “Myc, you don’t have to be what you are to the world with me. You just have to be you, which is all I have ever wanted. For once, I want you not to have to worry so much, let me all right. Let me take care of you, let me love you.”  
  
Mycroft melted, baring his face in the older man’s shoulder, taking in the musky smell of his department store cologne. His hands griped into the thin cotton t-shirt Greg wore and held on as though he-man before him would cease to exit. Maybe it would not be so bad to be cared for, if this is what it felt like.


	13. Your My Bestfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "You're My Best Friend"- Queen  
>  Pairing: JohnLock  
> AN: This is just fluff. And non cannon so yeah

When John Watson came home from the war, he was not sure there was anything left for him. He was a broken down old solider with a limp living in a crummy little bed-sit all alone. His days were divided up between sing the shrink the army had suggested and eating takeaway out of the box. 

* * *

  
He needed a change, so the next logical thing he could think of was to find a roommate, which would hopefully solve two of his problems. One being he paid too much for the shotty little room he was living in, and two having someone to talk to. Oh but there in lay the problem - who would want him for a flat mate?

  
Then came the day that changed everything. The day he met Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, and his new Flat mate.

* * *

  
From then on it was late night violin, giggling at crime scenes, chasing down bad guys and shooting serial killers. God John loved it; the one thing though he had not expected to come out of the deal though was the one thing he really wanted all along.

  
A best friend.

* * *

  
  
Somewhere along the line though things began to blur, not just because they spent every moment together. Sherlock often disappeared for a day or two, and John had his work at the clinic. It was more than that; maybe it was how everyone just assumed they were a couple.   
  
John denied this at every turn. _“If any one still cares I’m not actually gay”._

  
The more the thought about it however, the worse it got. He did care a great deal about the detective, more than he had any other friend he ever had. Not just that; Sherlock was beautiful.   
  
The man had that slender body and those long legs, John had often fantasized about how much easier it would all be if Sherlock were a woman. He could just turn on that Watson charm and sweep the posh git off his feet.   
  
That line of thinking often led to awkward and cold showers at 4am.   
  
“Bloody hell I’m in love with Sherlock Holmes.”   
  


* * *

_  
  
John found himself wandering around in daze after the reality of his feelings really sunk in. Sherlock was not what you would call _easily approachable_ , in -fact he had said as much when they first met “Married to The Work” he said.   
  
That is when it happened , or when John actually took notice of the little things. Like how annoyed or Jealous Sherlock was when pretty girls flirted with the army doctor.   
On the other hand, how the man caught a slight blush when John slipped into that commanding tone of Captain Watson.

Especially when it came to telling off Donavan and Anderson.  Maybe the self-proclaimed sociopath was not as devoid of sentiment as he would like everyone to think.   
  
There was only one-way to be sure, it was underhanded yes. However, this was an experiment and Sherlock would have commended his cleverness once John told the man everything was fine.   
  
Hopefully.

* * *

  
  
“I have a date tonight. I’ll be back tonight, less then things go well then. You know” John said with a cheeky little wink as he walked through the living room.   
  
Sherlock looked up from his microscope wrinkling his nose. “Do be careful John, by my calculations the amount of venereal disease has increased in the last decade. In-fact you might want to stay home all together”   
  
Typical, Sherlock would say something like that but it was proof, or **‘Observation 1 to support his hypothesis that Sherlock Holmes loves John Watson’.**  
  
“Thank you for your concern Sherlock but as a doctor I’m well aware and intend to take the appropriate precautions” he said slipping on his jacket at the door. John looked back noticing Sherlock was now sitting up glaring at the table.   
  
**Observation 2**

  
“What’s her name this time, something dull like Ann, or Mary?” the detective snorted out.   
  
John smirked to himself; “It’s Anthony actually”   
  
The look on Sherlock’s face was priceless. Like a wall in his precious mind palace had just crumbled to dust. “But, you… John that’s….”   
  
“A man’s name yes, Problem?” 

* * *

  
  
Was Sherlock blushing…god yes he was. John wanted to end this whole charade now but he needed to know, just one more observation to support and then he could come clean. Then he could tell the infuriatingly brilliant man that it was just a farce. That there was only one man for John Hamish Watson and that was William Sherlock Scott Holmes.  His Best friend!  
  
“No, its fine, it’s all fine…really I just well. John you have been very animated about.”   
  
**Observation 3**  
  
John crossed the room quickly grinning like the Cheshire cat, placing his hands on the table and leaned closer to Sherlock. The action effectively cutting off the man’s nervously worded sentence.  “About not being gay? Yes I have however; I never said I wasn’t bisexual now did I?”  
  
Sherlock looked at him along moments those bright beautiful eyes narrowing a fraction. “There is no Anthony is there.”  
  
“Nope” John said popping the ‘p’ in the word.  
  
“So this was…”  
  
“An experiment yes.”  
  
“And your findings Dr. Watson?”   
  
John came around the table just as Sherlock turned on the tool to face him. Tilting the detectives chin up as he spoke, “I think I require one more bit of evidence before I can state my theory Mr. Holmes.”

* * *

  
  
That’s how John Watson found his Flat mate, best friend, and lover. The man who was the first one there when things went wrong and only one who never made him feel lonely. The only one that made him feel loved and alive.  
  



	14. Gravity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Gravity" – Perfect Circle  
> An: No pairing this time just Mycroft being a good brother.   
> Warnings: Drug use.

_‘He’s lost again, that stupid little boy.”_  
  
 It was too often that this train of thought entered Mycroft Holmes’s mind. Especially when the topic of his little brother Sherlock came to mind. Sherlock seemed to falling off the path quite frequently these days.   
Once the younger Holmes began his final year at Uni, he just withdrew from everyone. Alternatively, was it before that?   
    Mycroft wracked his brain to pinpoint the moment when the little boy who used to follow him around playing deductions and pirates turned into the brooding angry youth before him.  Mycroft had been working so hard to secure his ‘minor position in the British government’ too busy to see the signs until he was receiving a call that his little brother had been found passed out in the dormitories.   
  
That first conversation had been the worst. 

* * *

  
_“Drugs Sherlock what were you thinking!” Mycroft looked angrier than Sherlock had ever seen him. It was oddly amusing seeing how the older mans red face brought out the ginger in his hair._   
  
_“Oh I don’t know, maybe it was an experiment on the effects of heroine on a Caucasian male of my height and build. Might that make it less a travesty to you if it was for educational purposes?” Sherlock droned out the answer as he lay back on the sofa in his brothers Kingston home._  
  
 _Mycroft was just barely in control of reaching out and strangling the young man… “What will mother say?”_  
  
 _Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Let’s find out, fetch your little assistant brother I’m sure you’re just dying to tattle to mummy about what a bad boy I’ve been”_  
  
 _“This is serious Sherlock for God sakes!”_  
  
 _“Oh come off it Mycroft” Sherlock stood shrugging on his coat. “If I get arrested I’ll give them a fake name how’s that? Then it will not tarnish your precious reputation. Honestly, I don’t know why we are evening having this conversation. It’s not as if you care.”_  
  
 _Mycroft had watched the retreating form of his brother that day. He wanted to correct him but doing so would destroy everything he had ever said. Caring is not an advantage, every heartbreaks and every life ends._  
  
 _However, losing Sherlock would shatter him._  
  


* * *

  
  
Therefore, Mycroft did what he did best, he watched and monitored and tried his damnedest to stay one-step ahead of his brothers free fall. He watched as a brilliant mind became broken and weary. He watched Sherlock skulk off into drug dens chasing what Mycroft did not know.  
  
He didn’t know how to stop Sherlock either, interventions didn’t work, kidnapping the youth off the street and throwing him into rehab didn’t work. Those clean living respite had been little more than a speed bump in the younger Holmes’s road to destruction.   
  
“He has to hit bottom” one of the doctors said.   
  
They claimed Mycroft should not force his brothers sobriety, Sherlock had to want it for him. 

* * *

  
  
When Sherlock found his ‘calling’ as the world’s only consulting detective, Mycroft thought that might be the answer. The Scotland Yard DI Lestrade had told Sherlock he couldn’t come to the crime scenes high.   
  
“I’m taking a risk even letting you in here, I won’t have a junkie tampering with evidence as well, so you sober up then I’ll give you a case.”  
  
That man had been a Godsend.   
  
However, Murphy’s Law applied to budding detectives with a taste for cocaine and heroin. 

* * *

  
  
It was 3:30 am when Mycroft’s mobile chimed on his nightstand. He hadn’t been in bed long having just concluded some late night international calls. This however was not the ring associated with his work; this urgent little chirping was specific to a very short list of numbers.   
  
His hand closed around the device spiriting it off the table and up to his ear as the call picked up. “Yes Brother mine.”  He said having seen the Caller ID.  
  
There was a beat of silence this in itself not unusual. Not until… “M-Myc…” the voice on the line cracked and shook with heavy breaths over the receiver.   
  
“Myc…”  
  
Mycroft lifted his other hand to the phone, sitting up in bed back straight as a board. “Sherlock, what’s going on?”   
  
Silence, that was never good. He implored again. “Sherlock what’s the matter.”   
  
“I …I can’t find my way…Myc…” The younger man’s tone seemed sullen and far away, something lingering in the timber. Of course, he was high.  
  
Mycroft was up and slipping out of his night clothes switching the phone to speaker smoothly. “Where are you, look around you and tell me what you see Sherlock.”  He had to keep calm.   
  
“I can’t, everything is…everything…Myc it’s so bright. I don’t …” There was a rustle of movement.   
  
The politician tilted his head to listen; Sherlock was getting up from some place. The crinkle of paper and fabric but not sheets, the scuff of leather-soled shoes on concrete. A smack house then, some place with concrete floors, industrial. The drug dens that were held in the old warehouse district near the Thames. Only a hand full of locations but still not good enough.   
  
“Sherlock listen to me I know you’re not feeling like yourself but I need to know what you’ve, taken can you tell me that?” He said taking up the phone again and descending the stairs, he had no time to call for a driver he would take a personal car instead.   
  
“.. Why. Why can’t I just let go. Why is it so hard these things the useless things I want to delete it all Mycroft. I just wanted to delete it all. ” There was creak of the metal door following Sherlock disturbing phrase. The ambient sound outside, Sherlock was outside near water.   
  
Mycroft quickly docked his phone into the vehicles control and typed in a gps as he spoke. “Sherlock, sit down now. You need to sit and think remember what I thought you? When things are too difficult or to tedious you simply have to go into your mind and open the door do you remember. I want you to sit down and do that for me now.”  
  
There was a clattering of Sherlock’s phone hitting the pavement fallowed by a dull thud of a body.   
  
Mycroft felt everything in him screech to a halt as his foot pressed firmer on the gas. “Sherlock…” nothing.   
“Sherlock”…nothing   
  
  
After Sherlock had gone unresponsive Mycroft opened a 3way call and requested the line be traced by satellite and...Discretely. He already had a general idea but that was not enough not now, not when his brother could very well be dying.  He knew the police or emergency services would not make it there any sooner than he could, not when he could easily alter the flow of traffic if need be. 

* * *

  
the sight of his little brother laying a pool of his own sick twitching violently under a flickering security light was…Shattering.   
  
Mycroft gathered up the gaunt filthy form of the sibling he used to know, looking into blown glassy eyes that belonged to their mother. He saw nothing but surrender.   
  
“I won’t let this happen, you’re going to get better lock, and you hear me. You’re going to live much longer than any of us just out of spite I know it. Now I need you to know it, this is your choice. Please, please Sherlock. Please live.” 

* * *

  
  
“Mr Holmes.”   
  
Mycroft looked up at the voice of the doctor who had been dispatched back to his home where he he had taken Sherlock. Going to a hospital had not been an option, there were too many variables and things were already so far out of control. The British government had too many enemies and if anyone knew Mycroft had a younger sibling in such a compromised state Sherlock would have become a target.   
  
“Yes?” He answered; the last half hour had been a blur.   
  
He remembered making it up the drive and staff running out to his car unloading an unconscious Sherlock homes from the back seat.  Anthea was there, her gentle hand falling on his shoulder leading him into the sitting room murmuring gently “Your brother will be taken care of sir.”   
  
“It was an overdose Sir, the substance is known as a speed ball, it’s a mixture of heroine and cocaine that is injected. Unfortunately, combining the two is often done with little or no accuracy for quantity of each and this happens. “   
  
This happens…no nothing just happens.  
  
Mycroft knew Sherlock did it on purpose this time. That was terrifying.  “Yes, thank you for your time doctor. I trust my brother is stable enough now for you to leave.”  It wasn’t a question it was a command.  
  
After the doctor had left Mycroft dismissed most of the staff and entered the guest room turned makeshift hospital room. Sherlock looked so thin and grey and helpless, it wasn’t right.   
  
He sat down next to his younger brother, taking a moment to card his fingers through the younger mans sweat slick dark curls.  Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open still masked a bit in the falling haze of his drug stupor.    
  
“My…Mycroft..” he slurred trying to move and growing alarmed when his progress was impeded by the soft leather and wool lining of the safety restraints.   
  
“Shhh, it’s alright brother mine, it’s alright now. Do relax, nothing is going to hurt you just breathe and relax.” the elder Holmes spoke calmly and evenly still stroking back Sherlock’s hair.  
  
“I’m alive?”   
  
Mycroft paused, his brother’s sound of not just surprise but lingering disappointment in the question threw him off. “Yes you are, you came very close Sherlock. To close.”  
  
Sherlock's eyes rolled about before closing easing into sleep. His brother never leaving his side.

* * *

  
The next few weeks were hell, withdrawal symptoms where frighten and tedious. Aggression, sweating, nausea vomiting, muscle spasms and seizures.   
  
The supplemental methadone did little to take the edge off and to a point Mycroft did not think it was going to work. This was just another step toward his brother inevitable fall.   
  
Then the day came.   
  
Sherlock was alone in the room they had converted for him, what was once a small recreational room in the basement had been converted to a bedroom and bath. Safety precautions taken of course, no sharp implements of dangerous wears.  It was clear in the first few days the over dose was not accidental. Mycroft wasn’t taking any chances.  
  
The young Holmes had bucked at every effort at salvation. He could not fathom why the other was going to such lengths.  
  
“Why, tell me why. You are the one who said we had no room for sentiment. That was you! So why Mycroft why prey-tell wont you let me out of this prison to do as I please!” he shouted when his brother came down to bring him dinner.   
  
Not that he would eat it. In the last few days Sherlock’s new tactic was refusing food. Saying he would eat when they let him go.  
  
Mycroft sighed placing the tray to the side, he was done he was surrendering to his own pride if it beating h brothers addiction.  “We don’t have room for it Sherlock but its there nonetheless and sometimes it’s that sentiment that shows us what’s important. It shows us what’s worth the fight.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “So what? You’re torturing me for England?”   
  
“No Sherlock I’m saving my brother because…Because I love you and I do not want you to die!”    
  
The silence between them felt like it stretched on for ages. Sherlock looked away seeing the tears of frustration gathering in his brothers eyes. He had not seen Mycroft cry not since they were children.   
  
“And If I live then what?” He asked unable to meet the elder’s eyes.  
  
“I want you to have a life; I don’t just want you to survive this I want you to thrive after it. I worry Sherlock I worry constantly that I’m going to pick up the phone and someone is going to tell me they have found you in some ally way with a needle sticking out of your arm or beaten to death. That devastate me because what little sentiment I have in this world is for you.”   
  
Sherlock turned around looking so lost, so broken. “What am I suppose to say to that?”   
  
  
“Say that you’ll let me help you.”   
  
“Mycroft…..Help me.”

* * *

  
  
 **4 years later**  
  
Mycroft could read the signs, the shift in the air. An east wind was coming; Sherlock was becoming more agitated with Moriarty on the lamb. Something had to give somewhere and looked as if the comfort of old habits might rear their ugly head.   
  
Just as the politician was about to as DI Lestrade to search his younger brother’s home for drugs or perhaps inform the good Doctor Watson so that perhaps the man could be on alert.   
  
His phone buzzed on the table top.   
  
**It’s a bad night. - SH**  
  
 **Oh and why is that? - MH**  
  
 **You know why, don’t pretend like you haven’t been spying on me. - SH**  
  
 **Tell me what I’m to do about it then brother mine? - MH**  
  
 **… Help me- SH**


	15. I'll keep the kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll keep the kids - Montgomery Gentry  
> The Lestrades / Mystrade

"Yeah, that's all you'll ever be Greg! Just some run down old copper!" Caroline shouted back as she packed up her belonging into her new boyfriends Audi.  "You're gunna hear from my barrister." she snapped, slamming the trunk closed.

 

Greg wasn't surprised it was coming to this; he had been watching his marriage fall about for years now. Honestly he was beyond caring, he hadn't really loved Caroline since there last child was born. He had tried to tell himself the sweet little baby girl would solve the wedge between them but it didn't. Now four years later he could see that things were not worth salvaging with his soon to be ex-wife

 

"Oh about I do you one better yeah? We can settle all this right here right now; all you want is everything yeah?" He said waving the 11 page print out of the house and inventory off all their belongs the woman had handed him this morning before she started packing.

"Mighty big of you Greg, ya know that's the first useful thing you've done in the last 10 years." her tone dripped with sarcasm.

 

Greg just threw his arms wild with a dry laugh, "Take the house, sell it burn it I don't care, here ya know what take the keys to both the cars. I can drive the panda," He fished the yes from his pocket and tossed them at her feet. "Should I take the pictures when I go? Clear you don't want those, that's just proof I ever lived here at all."

 

Caroline dropped her gaze seeming to lose her indignation. "Greg, look we just. Don't work, we haven't for..."

 

"No. no I don't want to hear it Carry you know why? Out of all the things, you have on this bloody tally book of our life for the past 13 years I do not see two every important things. So if you don't care, I'll just keep the kids yeah?"

 

Her eyes went wide, she had forgotten then. Before she could speak the man in side the Audi, the one taking a mother from her children and a wife from her husband, rolled down the window and informed her they needed to get on the road. "Greg I..."

 

"Yeah I know...," the Di said with a shrug and turned his back, he couldn't watch her leave. He didn't want her to get the satisfaction of seeing him break.

 

* * *

 

 

Greg sat on the sofa tempted to drown his sorrows with whiskey, unfortunately his two children asleep upstairs prevented that plan from taking off. He looked over the papers again with distaste: His fathers old Gibson Guitar, his Grandmothers diamond ring. Grand'Mere Lestrade wore that band for over fifty years, Carline didn't even like her she just wrote it out of spite.

It didn't matter though in the scheme of things, He could lose every possession even the shirt off his back but he wouldn't loose his kids.

 

The DI was drawn out of his morose thinking by the doorbell, he half hoped it was Carlines new beau having the idiocy to come back and ask for directions so he could sock the prat in the jaw. However when Greg opened the door he saw a familiar face in a three-piece suit.

 

"Myc..." His voice stuttered a bit. There it was, he couldn't hold it not in front of Mycroft Holmes.

 

"I know Gregory, I know, May I come in?"

Greg stepped a side to allow the younger man in, he expected a kind word maybe the offer to have Caroline deported. What he hadn't expected was when the door shut being pounced upon by the elder Holmes.

 

Sure, they knew each other a long time and Greg knew the kind of man Mycroft was. That discovery had come after a few pints when the two of them ended up in a rather violent snog in the back of one of the politician's cars. Greg had felt guilty about that, being married and all, but he never regretted it, not really.

 

Over the last couple of years since the incident they got closer, Greg's kids knew Mycroft even liked him. Moreover, right now that was why Greg didn't pull away.  

He felt a surge of relief, it was all right, and it was all going to be all right.  Greg pushed back grabbing Mycroft by his expensive tie and dragging the man up the stairs and into the master bedroom. He wanted to rewrite every memory in that bed, cover them in this impossibly brilliant man.

* * *

 

The next morning, like most Saturday morning Greg wheezed as the air was forced out of his lungs by an overly energetic toddler jumping on him.

 

"Da! Wake up is time for cartooons! Oh Hai Mikey!" little Aubrey shouted brightly.

 

Greg's eyes snapped open as he looked over at Mycroft whom was still in bed now half hiding in the duvet.  

 

"NICKY MIKEYS HERE!" Greg's youngest shouted.

 

There was the sound of feet padding down the hall and a grumble of "Don't be stupid Aubrey, Why would Mycroft be ...oh...hello" Greg's eldest Nicholas paused at the door blushing.

 

"Kids, will up you give us a moment. We will um be down soon. Nick come get your sister yeah?" Greg said shooing the children out.

 

Both men turned red when they heard little Aubrey asks her brother if "Mikey was going to be their new mommy"

 

"Gregory... I have a proposition, if you're open to it." Holmes began as he fell back against the pillows.

 

Gregg laughed scrubbing his hands over his face. "I think I'm open to just about anything right now."

 

Mycroft thought about what he was about to ask, he knew what it would mean; it was something he had wanted for so long. "My home is very large, and it's just I there. I assume Caroline wishes to sell this home in order to split the selling price. What I'm trying to ask Gregory is... if you and the children, if you would like to come and live with me?"

 

Greg turned rising up on his elbow, "Moving kind of fast aren't you Mister Holmes?" he said with a smirk.

 

Mycroft flustered a bit "I could have said the same for you last night DI Lestrade."

 

The older man leaned in nipping at the government operatives neck playfully; "I think you liked it a bit rough Myc. So how about we do it again in our new bed at your place yeah"

 

 


	16. I need you now (olly murs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: I need you now -by Olly Murs  
> Pairing JohnLock

Sherlock Holmes always thought feelings were over rated and messy. Love was among the worst of those human expressions. Perhaps the most telling thing about the self-proclaimed sociopath's disdain for the emotion was that deep down; he didn't believe anyone could love him.

 

He had studied probabilities, the divorce rates and the marriage rates along with birth rates and murder by spouse. If one factored in all the pros and cons of that annoying thing, called love the answer was clear.

 

Things were decidedly better with it than with out.

 

Sherlock would watch the couples in the park, when he wasn't lying on a filthy mattress in a drug den or badgering the police, he could tell that for every 10 couples there would be one, one beautifully flawless pair that he could not pick apart. No lying, no cheating, just two people who thought the world of the other.

Something in his chest would ache, all the time he spent running away from emotions he never really got away from them. It was moments like that when the powerful looming loneliness would grip his ribcage and seize up his heart. He wanted that, that perfecting shinning thing with someone made just for him.

* * *

John Watson was always the nice guy, the guy that women dated because he was well. Just so nice. However, nice didn't always equal staying power. Nice guys often did finish last in their youth because it was the bad boys who were interesting.

 

The army was an escape; it was a chance to do something meaningful with his life. John would patch up fellow servicemen as best he could so they could be sent back to their loved ones. Not all of them made it; it was days like that when he held a young soldier had that he couldn't save. Looking into frightened eyes some times, they would give him letters and ask him to be sure they were sent. Other times the Youngman would be to far gone to be lucid and call out the names of friends, family, or lovers.

John would wonder what that was like to love someone so much to call his or her name with your last breath.

 

He wanted something like that, he needed it.

* * *

Sherlock was standing in the lab of St. Barthelme's when he first met John.  The first time he deduced them man he waited to be told off immediately, but that didn't happen.

 

_"Brilliant."_

_"People don't usually say that."_

_"What do they say?"_

_"Piss off."_

 

From that moment on, they became inseparable, that first night John had shot a man to save Sherlock. He knew, people don't just kill people for just anyone. Even when they would fight with each other, they always made up. That's what friends do, Sherlock told himself. He even looked it up because he never really had friends.

Friends were not jealous though when other friends had dates and friends did not typically offer them selves up to be blown to bits by a bomb at the hands of a crazed maniac. However, not everyone was like them.

Not every friend will die for you.

That's when Sherlock knew, standing there on the ledge at St. Barthelme's. The person he had been searching for, his one had been right there all along.  He had to protect John, even if this was the only way to love the man, he would protect him.

* * *

 

Losing a friend is hard, losing someone you love... Is shattering.

John was completely destroyed.

 

"I need you Sherlock...I need you." he had said it so many times there in the silence of 221b. He realized he loved his best friend.

He could image everything about that beautiful mad genius, the way he smiled, they he laughed, the way he cried when he thought John couldn't hear him.

John regretted that the most. He should have done more, said more. He should have grabbed the detective and shook him, should have help him as tight as possible and kissed him.

* * *

_"Long story short not dead"_

 

That's what Sherlock said when he showed up on the doorstep of 221b, he really wasn't surprised when john decked him. What did surprise him however was after he got up from the floor was to find him self with wrapped up in his little bloggers arms.

 

"Don't you ever do that again, you promise me! I swear to god Sherlock if you ever leave me again I will find you and kill you myself."

 

Sherlock melted in those warm deceptively strong arms, resting his head on Johns shoulder. "I didn't want to, I never wanted to. I ...I needed you every day."

 

He honestly thought John would pull away, because friends did not imply to be in love with other friends. Especially when one friend is a proclaimed heterosexual.

Nevertheless, John Watson never ceased to amaze.

 

John grabbed him by the labels and hauled him inside slamming the door behind them before shoving Sherlock up against the closed entrance. Holmes flinched waiting to be struck again; he would have deserved it to. However, he felt lips pressed to his own and a stout sturdy body pressing him into the door. The detective moaned into the heated kiss.

 

This was it this was the moment he craved, the moment they had been searching for, _Their one person_.

 

 


	17. Not in that Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Not in that way – Sam Smith  
> Pairing: Unrequited - JohnLock  
> An: written in Sherlock's pov

Emotions are messy and unpredictable, they serve little purpose other than to cloud ones judgment. Yet I find myself craving one particular emotion like oxygen, it's all Johns fault.

 

If he was not so calm and so patient with me, if he was not to genuine and loyal; I wouldn't have these nonsensical feelings muddling up my daily life.

 

I dislike this, I detest what his smiling eyes make me want to say. I loath the way the roughness and strength of his hands make me shiver. I find it completely deplorable how I am brought to my knees by the command in his voice.

 

I hate that I love him.

 

Most of all I hate that he does not Love me.

 

I would never ask that of him, he has made it clear that his feeling toward me is platonic, brotherly even. I am certain that if I were to ever under those three words that John would leave. He would realize how broken I was and apologize for leading me to believe that what we have is more than cohabitation. He might even say he cares for me but, not in that way.

 

I would rather bathe in sulfuric acid than to hear him say that.

 

I despise to admit that I need him, even though it's true, I am reliant, dependent, and completely foolish without his guidance. John Watson keeps me right.

 

I have discovered the name for the pain that stabs through my chest when he leaves with some woman for the evening. It's called jealousy, noun, plural; derived from the old French word _Gelos_. Defined as a mental uneasiness from suspicion or fear of rivalry, unfaithfulness, etc., as in love or aims. A vigilance in maintaining or guarding something.

 

I want to keep John, my John always. However I know the truth is that can never happen.

 

Never will I tell him of these...Damnable feelings that consume me. Just as I will never see my reflection in those deep blue eyes so filled with care. Not like how he looks at those women.

 

I love you John ...I love you and one day I will have to watch you leave.

 

Because friends don't love friends... not In that way.


	18. Only Fools Rush In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: only fools rush in -Elvis Presley  
> Pairings: Johnlock  
> Au: 50's

_Wiseman say only fools rush in, but I can't help falling in love with you.._

 

This was wrong, sinful and wrong... And they couldn't stop. They fell so fast that by the time either man realized what was happening it was to late . John loved Sherlock and Sherlock loved him.

 

They knew what could happen if anyone found out, even John's military history and Sherlock's intelligence wouldn't save them from the hate of the outside world. Try as they might to hold back those traitorous feelings, they always ended up right back were they started.

 

"John....ah..John please " breathless words in deep registry broke the silence in 221b. The bedroom was to hot and air to thick around them.

 

They had fallen victims again to the longing. However, closed doors provided safety. The four walls of their beloved Baker St. flat became a cocoon for the love they had to hide.

 

"Yes...love let me hear you. God your so beautiful," John praised the man beneath him as Sherlock arched and fought desperately to contain his pleasured cries.

 

He was afraid of thin walls, afraid of making a mistake that might ruin his solider.

 

John could see it and he didn't care, let them here. He wrapped his arms around his detective's lithe body and whispered, "I love you."

 

That's all it took for that rich baritone to beg the heavens and chant the good doctor's name like a holy mantra.

 

Come morning nothing else would matter. Maybe it was wrong, but it was love.


	19. It never woulda worked out anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: It Never would have worked out anyway - Brad Paisley  
> Pairing: JohnLock  
> AN: I am a goofy loser.

 

Sherlock considered he might have gone over board seeing this new girlfriend of Johns slap the Doctor rather hard.

 

You see Sherlock had a problem; the problem was John was dating and he was just a little jealous about that...just a little.

 

"SHERLOCK!" ...oh that meant he was in trouble.

 

The detective dashed back from the window and curled up in his seat to pretend he had been innocently watching crap telly this whole time and not busy sabotaging yet another one of Watson's relationships.

 

To bad, his blogger was observant, he really should not have explained the science of deduction to John because now the man could read the guilt all over his emotionless face.

 

"Sherlock..." why must John say his name with such a tone, he should say it nicely like when he is praising his brilliance at a crime scene.

 

"Yes John?"

 

His nostrils are flaring and his lips are pressed in a firm line. So...angry, no scratch that - enraged would be a more appropriate term now.

 

"Sherlock would you happen to know why, Joanna was under the impression that I used to be a woman?"

 

Sherlock couldn't help it that one wasn't one of his better lies but really; if she was that much of an idiot to believe it then yes it was hilarious. His lips quirked at the corner, "Perhaps it has something to do with that floral jumper you wore on your last date?"

 

"No. No, it has nothing to do with a bloody floral jumper and you know it! Someone. Namely you! Told her that, now I want to know what other Lies have you been telling about me right this instance!" John came marching up pushing the television aside to slide in his chair. His hands flex and grip the armrests.

 

Therefore, he might strangle Sherlock but not right now, the idea is still though an option. He is a doctor but apparently, this is a bad day.

 

Therefore, the truth shall set you free. Well Sherlock hopes it will free him from bodily harm.

 

"Perhaps, honesty John if she was that slow then I was doing you a favor, you shouldn't lower your self to someone who has a far below average IQ. If that's what you're after I'm sure you could call after Anderson and inquire if he has a sister... that gene pool is shallow enough."

 

John scoots forward in his chair glaring harshly. "I'm serious Sherlock."

 

Holmes sighs and unfolds his legs as if this whole thing is a bore. "Fine, I may have ...tested a few of the women whom you have taken interest in. They all failed miserably obviously."

 

"Sherlock....."

 

The brunette jumped up motioning wildly with his hands. "What do you want John! They were just tiny little rumors! So what if I told Susan that you hide your wedding band or Anna that you spend a year in prison or what was her name ...the sales girl, yes I told her you hang out at those late night motels."

 

John had his head in his hands... "What else...I need to know how much damage you've done."

 

"I told the dental technician you had seven children and were once a male exotic dancer." Sherlock stood silently and statue still waiting the Doctors wrath.

 

"Why. Why Sherlock would you do this?" John didn't sound very angry now.

 

The detective's cheeks went red and he crossed his arms. "It wouldn't have worked out with them; you're too good for them."

 

"Bollocks! They were all perfectly fine and very nice now tell me the real reason!" John said jumping up getting into Sherlock's personal space.

 

It was Sherlock's turn to shout, his face and ears dusted in crimson. "Because I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else but me!"

 

Johns face lit up with a grin. "About bloody time." With that, he reached up and grabbed the taller mans curls pulling him down into a kiss.

 

When they broke apart, Sherlock stared dumbly at his blogger, lost in a haze of what had just happened.

John gently tapped him on the cheek and smirked.

 

 

 


	20. Skyfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skyfall - Adele  
> Mythena  
> BAMF Anthea  
> Au: MI6 (007)

"Your very calm for a man facing death Mr. Holmes."

 

Mycroft smirked spitting out a line of blood, he was surprisingly calm for a man who had been kidnapped by terrorists and beaten with an inch of his life. However, he'd never give them what they wanted. "Should I be worried? Somehow I do not believe that I'm the one in danger here."

 

His captors scoffed, stepping forward to jerk the blindfold away from his eyes. "Don't be so cocky Mr. Holmes; you are in no position to make threats!"

 

Mycroft blinked in the low light of the tiny cell he was in. It was a warehouse, older likely used for textile if the residue on the floors and walls was any indication. Then he was not far from the rendezvous point, also good. "Tell me something, do you really think this is going to end in your favor. Even if you kill me, I will not be the only one coming to stop you. Surely you don't think all the other countries and there agencies will let a group of madmen have control of a weapon that powerful."  He said all the while adjusting his bound wrists, just a bit closer to press the button on the side of his watch.

 

A gps signal.  It would not be long now.

* * *

The guard paced back and forth in front of his cell, when suddenly the man stopped. The henchmen looked around listening to a distant sound somewhere in the warehouse.

 

Mycroft smirked to himself. "Clever girl."

 

The henchmen looked up at the air duct, tilting his head in question as he listened. The poor bastard never saw it coming. The duct grate exploded off and into the man's face under a pair of leather-clad boots. The figure dropped down gracefully from the small opening in the ceiling. She moved with precision lifting the keys from the unconscious mans belt.

 

Unlocking the cell door she smiled, such a welcome sight that mischievous little grin. "Hello Sir, Miss me?"

 

"As always my dear your timing is impeccable." He said with a smile as his faithful assistant untied his hands.

 

The posh agent stood tall adjusting his shirt cuffs before lifting his suit jacket from a nearby table. Taking a moment to push away any dust before slipping it on. Anthea standing to his right pulled a handgun from her belt holding it at the ready.

 

"Shall we Sir?" She asked, excitement glittering in her warm dark eyes. She always did love the fray.

 

Mycroft stepped to the door holding it open and waving his hand with a flourish, "Ladies first."

 

"Such a gentleman, I'm sure your mummy would be proud." Her lips quirking in a little smile.

 

"She would, I'm sure father would be pleased with some of my other choices as well." He commented, light eyes lingering down her back and over the rise of her behind in the tight fitting leather.

 

She could feel his gaze and allowed it, swaying her hips in step down the hall. "There are easily a hundred men out there; perhaps you should concentrate on that."

 

"Of course my dear, how thoughtless of me." He stood beside her next to the double doors that could very well lead to their death. He wordlessly offered his hand his weapon ready in the other.

 

She took it with out question, "On three?"

 

The count was slow or it felt slow, at the third call they kicked the doors open and opened fire.

 

_~~At the sky fall when it crumbles, we will stand tall, face it all together... At sky fall~~_


	21. Burning House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song - burning house - Cam

There was so much smoke, it was black and swirled high charring everything. The flames licked up the walls, the paper curled and flecked away under the onslaught. He watched the happy face shot into the wall scorch into an evil grimace.

"John..." It was true, fire did show ones priorities.

Sherlock ran through the flat but it wasn't quite right, things seemed off. _Oh of course..._

Because it wasn't their flat was it, it hadn't been their flat in a long time. This was a dream or perhaps an apparition, one of the many rooms in his mind palace. Still... he kept going, heart pounding as he flung open the doors and choked on the thick haze.

Dreams are treacherous things, mirrors of our lives, a place where we can come and do the things we deny ourselves in our wakeful lives.

That's why Sherlock didn't stop, he climbed those stairs and grabbed at the red hot doorknob that seared the flesh on his hands and brought tears to his eyes. "John.."

They wouldn't get out now, he knew it as he climbed into the small bed next the one man who meant so much. The one man he never wanted to hurt. His friend- only friend, best friend, best... everything.

Sherlock laid down and pulled the motionless body closer to his own as the fire crept closer, crackling the floorboards and shattering the windows. He held on tight because this was the only place where he could.

He never meant to hurt John.

Mercurial eyes closed as he buried his face against a familiar scared shoulder. "I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry"

"You need to get out Sherlock."

 _That was odd..._ John had never spoken to him in this dream. They would just lay here and everything would burn. That's how it always ended.

"You need to get out."

"I can't John, I left you once and I promised to never do it again."

"Then get out, you have to get out Sherlock."

"He's right brother mine, you need to get out." Sherlock looked up to see his brother Mycroft standing there amidst the flames , suit perfect as always as if even the heat was to afraid to touch the iceman.

Something...no "I'm... not asleep."

"Oh Sherly, I told you didn't I? I told you I'd burn the heart out of you." Moriarty.... No he was ..he was dead .

Sherlock sat up looking at the man who had been a bitter nightmare for two years. Still smiling in that damn Westwood suit, only know he wasn't alone. Moriarty sat on the windowsill twirling a piece of broken glass as he leaned back against a woman... a woman with blond hair and a gun in her hand. " Mary.."

He had to get out.

Suddenly he was alone but he could hear something, it was far away but even so he knew his Doctors voice anywhere. It kept him right and warm in those bitter nights in Serbia.

"Sherlock! Come on Sherlock!"

He stumbled through the flames shielding his face as they flared in his path. Through the flat, the halls of the university, the morgue, breaking through a set of doors that looked mysteriously like those of New Scotland yard.

The light was so bright here, looking up he had to squint at the spiral staircase. This had been in his grandmother's house in France.

"Sherlock you stay...you stay with me, I forgive you so you have to stay. Stay!"

He looked back at the door they creaked and the metal began to glow and melt. There was not much time.

Step by step, it felt like his legs weighed ten tons. Still he had to, John forgave him. He wanted him. But could he have John they way he wanted? No.... Mary.

But that wasn't right something in his head supplied, something was all wrong with that. .. _Liar...Liar... LIAR._

"Sherlock please... I can't lose you not again."

His head was so fuzzy, just a few more steps, its only transport. Keep going. Keep going for John.

Sherlock fell onto the top step curled on his side looking up at the door; it was the door to 221b. _How fitting._

"Please...you don't know what you mean to me.. what you've always meant."

 _Tell me John.._ His tired fingers made purchase on the door handle, leaning into it with what little strength he had left and the dream gave way.

* * *

 

John looked up from his folded hands, it had been two weeks since Mary shot his best friend, two weeks Sherlock had been in a coma after dying for three minuets on the table.

His wife was a murderer.. no ex wife, there was no way he could trust her now. In truth this was the first time he had thought of her in days. Johns entire world had become these four walls and this man laying before him.

Maybe that was always true, Sherlock had been his life for so long. Even after the fall, after the pain that came with it. After feeling betrayed by a lie... it was always Sherlock Holmes.

John laughed, how hard he had worked to fight what everyone said about them. Yet here he sat, reaching out to card his fingers through dark erodent curls. "Wake up Sherlock, I need to tell you something and I know you don't like repetitiveness. So wake up cause I'm only gunna say it once."

He didn't expect Sherlock's lashes to flutter when they did. Lids slowly peeling back with a glassy almost drunk look in those usually bright clever eyes. The Doctor jumped to his feet immediately looking the detective over and pressing the call button.

In those first few moments of wakefulness Sherlock focused on John, his shaking hand reaching out to grip the older mans navy blue jumper. "John...tell me .."

Watson paused placing his hand over the cool larger one. "You heard me did you, alright...alright then I'll tell you." He leaned down letting his free hand caresses a sharp cheek. "I love you Sherlock."


	22. Broken Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broken Inside -by- Broken Iris   
> Johnlock  
> Warnings- highly descriptive drug use and suicidal themes 
> 
>  
> 
> I may do a part two if anyone asks

 

**Sherlock’s Pov.**

_“Cross the line again…. Cause there’s something deep down inside that waits to be broken”_

This was not even about the high, how boring that is. There is no recreation or social acceptance to this pursuit that beckons with tendril fingers. It is medication that is suitable is not it. I do not need some half-witted mental health workers with their predictable and disingenuous commentary asking me how I ‘feel’. I do not feel.

**Tedious.**

I do not need sentiment, sentiment is dangerous and feral, and it leaves you insular. It tricks you with human comfort, fooling you with its attractive words and promises. Friendship and Love.

**Rubbish.**

I am just a machine, which is what John said. Machines require maintenance when they are damaged; their only value is in their function. My function is my intelligence, I need that utility to properly complete The Work and thus I need maintenance. I need to clear away the debris left in the wake of this pitiable longing. Sweep out the halls of my mind palace and delete all the useless information.

* * *

 

_“Until the end of me…. I swear… You'll be the death of me”_

It is simple really, a chemical compound, something I can understand. C21H23NO5; with a molecular mass of 369.41 g/mol. Child’s play, a fluid ticket to euphoria.

Preparation is done with well-practiced measurements, the movements as smooth as the bow across the strings of a violin. Because I know this dance I know it so well, let us see them do something about it now.

Mycroft must be sweating since I found all of his little cameras.

He knows, he knows and for all the British government and its posturing, he is too weak to stop me. On the other hand, maybe he just does not care anymore. Maybe he never really did, he abandoned me. John abandoned me.

**No. Incorrect.**

John was never mine to have; he was a visitor in this madness. I left, I died, he moved on. Moved on with her….

Mainlining, such a beautiful word. The way it rolls off the tug has a macabre elegance; it dances in like the wisps of smoke from this substance boiling in the silver spoon that inspired it. Dissolving my memories in water and citric powder, boiling away the noise and replacing it with anticipation.

**Everything will be so clear.**

The warm euphoria that sprints through my femoral vein in a lovely 17 seconds. There is no pain here, no tension, and no anxiety. That initial rise to the mountaintop as the belt hits the floor, the lovely embrace of the plateau. The ceiling becomes a haze and the walls melt into the floor.

**Am I awake? Am I dreaming? Do I care?**

Lost in a surge of pleasure, sensory input that seems chaotically bombarding to my somatosensory cortex. A beautiful hour of relief, but not nearly enough. I need that more, I need to feel that embrace I cannot let it go not now when the flat is so silent and faded. I need color; I need gold shadowed in silver. I need oatmeal knit and stripes, I need silly patterns of plaid shirts with tucked in collars and eyes of dark blue.

Just three or so more times and then I will stop. I can stop, I can stop whenever I like, and I can control this.

**I do not need him.**

The second hit is always more heavy handed but that has to be expected. The first was a warm up, to be acclimated to the waters as they say. This one will last longer and I can float farther out to sea.

* * *

 

_“Losing my mind, gasping for life… crashing through tides that drive me to find… the darkness behind.”_

Coming down from the second takes longer, its evening now. On the other hand, is it morning? The lights hazy and grey it could be either. My phone is ringing, not that I care. It is likely one of those idiots at the yard, Geoffrey or...Gabe, something. Whom ever he is, he is shagging my brother I know that.

Let them solve their own crimes for once I have more important things to attend to. I am wondering what John’s doing right now… living in his new home with his assassin bride. He could forgive her, but he left me…

**I am a fool.**

This is what happens when you let sentiment get in the way.

Taking up the needle again and loading the chamber, I think about that game the Russians play, one bullet in the chamber. It is like that isn’t it?

**It is still ringing.**

* * *

 

**John’s Pov**

I disconnect the call for the fourth time in the cab, after what Mycroft said I could not seemed to get back to the flat fast enough. The look on his face as if he had just...Given up. How do you do that to your own brother, as many times as Harry has been in and out of rehab I … oh yes I suppose I did. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I feel like an idiot, he came back from the dead and me... I got married. I left him when could see that he wasn’t ok. I trusted a woman who almost killed him; I went back to her ready to continently bury my head in the sand.

Then I looked at the flash drive, I said I wouldn’t but the damn thing was practically shouting at me that I had to know. I had to know whom she really was and if she ever really loved me or was I, just part of the plan that she had grown fond of over time.

After that I couldn’t stay, but I couldn’t go back either, that would have been like admitting I was wrong. I’m just as stubborn as that lunatic.

“I think he’s using again…I don’t think it will mater what I do this time.” Greg had been there when Mycroft said it; I thought it was odd those two have been spending a lot of time together since Greg’s divorce. I guess everyone needs a friend and being the only friend of a Holmes takes a certain kind of man.

Mycroft looked so… lost and that was frightening. He isn’t the sort that should ever look that way.

It made something turn cold in me when I thought about the danger nights, the few times I had helped Sherlock off a mild withdrawal.

**However, I wasn’t there, I wasn’t there…no one is there to help him.**

When the cab slows down, I throw a hand full of bills, keys in hand. Every steep feels like moving through wet sand because I can tell when I hit the landing that something isn’t right.

* * *

 

**3rdPOV**

John burst into the flat and immediately noticed the stench, poor Mrs. Hudson. She never could handle seeing Sherlock so ill. She would stay away out of respect or maybe it was fear. John had that fear now as he charged toward the bedroom calling out the detective’s name.

**What if he’s dead?**

The thought caused him to pause, hand loosely wrapped around the doorknob. No. He couldn’t think that. The door slid open and here the smell was worse, John knew why. He had treated enough junkies in the clinic. Sherlock wasn’t just any junkie thought.

It’s different seeing someone you care for, someone you love laying limp with a needle in their arm.

“Jesus Christ….SHERLOCK!”

The next few hours where a mad dash and swarms of doctors, John all the while trying to detach that part of his mind screaming for that lifeless form to just be ok. Sherlock needed him calm, needed him focused.

**He needed you, and you weren’t there.**

John sat with his head in his hands. Sherlock had been placed into an induced coma until the drugs could work out of his system. The overdose had been a close call, if John had not found him…

There is clarity in pain, when the adrenalin subsides and your mind slips into a low hum. When all those simple things become clear.

That’s when John took the detectives too cool, too thin hand in his. They had all been right, the woman, Donavan, all the women John ever tried to date. Even Mary.

**It’s always been Sherlock Holmes.**

That lunatic had crawled into Johns veins like the drugs that were killing him.

“You better live, you hear me? Because I’m going to throttle you when you wake up. Then I’m going to kiss you. So you stay with me Sherlock. You stay and I promise I will never leave you again. I will do whatever I can to make this right.”

 


	23. Tenerife Sea  (part1 Omegaverse shot)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a 4-part piece and my first adventure into this verse. I’m gunna be honest this is my guilty pleasure, and I adore Omega Sherlock. I just hope you all will love it to and be gentle with me. Kudos are love and Comments are great as long as they are not snotty. 
> 
> Tenerife Sea - Ed Sheeran  
> Omega verse/ Omega Sherlock/ Omega Mycroft  
> JohnLock with background Mystrade

**(Part 1- Confession)**  
When John Watson was a little boy, he always knew that one day he would bond. He would find a kind, smart omega or maybe a beta and have a lovely little family. They would be happy, like his parents had been before his father died. He would be a good alpha and work hard for his mate and pups. Maybe have a house on a nice street in the city. It was a picture perfect dream just like every child dreams.   
  
 As John grew up and watched his peers date and bond his opinions changed, he wanted a bit more in life. Not to say he did not generally want the same direction he just wanted to make a difference. He wanted to look back at his life and know that he did everything he wanted, that he changed something. That he meant something.  
 He joined the Army and became a doctor, Captain John Hamish Watson. That time changed him; he saw the cruelty of man and knew intimately the feeling of holding someone’s life in your hands. He came home with more than his share of scars. Part of the Alpha still wanted what everyone his nature wanted, the natural way of things…a better half to share his life with. Somehow, he wondered if anyone else would find an old army doctor with a limp very appealing.   
  
Of all the things John had grown to expect in life Sherlock Holmes was not at all what he had been expecting at all.   
  
The man was difficult, stubborn, confusing, yet… he was also brilliant and kind in his own way. As much as the proclaimed A-social detective liked to pretend that he did not have feelings, he did. John had seen them; he had watched that beautiful maniac break to pieces inside all while holding his head high. John could see it in Sherlock’s eyes, eyes that could reflect the sunshine and drink in the darkness. Eyes that could look right through you and pierce your heart with the coldest of glares. Eyes that could also beg you not to leave, they reminded him of the Tenerife Sea.   
  
Even when he thought Sherlock was dead, he couldn’t forget him, couldn’t wash his mind free of wild dark hair and long limbs smooth as porcelain. That grin when the man knew the answer to a problem, the way he would hold it because it was the best part of the game to know something no one else did. John missed it all.   
  
 When he got Sherlock back, John wasn’t going to let him go. Not for anything. Even if he thought the world’s only consulting detective was an Alpha at the time. Even if they could never be anything more than friends could, it would be enough. 

* * *

It had happened by accident, Sherlock had not been back long and Mycroft in all his careful planning had ‘forgotten’ Sherlock’s medication. The Suppressants and scent stabilizers were pivotal if he was to continue The Work. Of course, his brother told him that he should be fine, after all, he had been through quite an ordeal with traipsing all over the world unraveling Moriarty’s network. It might do him some good to go off the chemicals for a while. 

* * *

  
  
“It’s not as if you have an Alpha underfoot to worry about brother mine.” Yes Mycroft liked to rub it in that John no longer lived in 221b, in fact Sherlock’s Doctor Watson was dating some beta woman and had punched Sherlock in the nose upon laying eyes on him.   
  
“Oh? You mean as you do. Tell me have you let your little goldfish catch a whiff yet Mycroft.”   
  
The politicians face scrunched up. “No, I should thank you to drop this matter as I have no idea as to whom you are referring.”   
  
Sherlock smirked curling his legs up in the chair, “Oh you know, Gavin Lestrade…he’s an Alpha and good at it.”   
  
That was enough to do it; his older brother flushed and got up headed for the door. “Perhaps once you stop this childish nonsense I will be back with your beloved suppressants. Until then I would suggest you stay indoors brother mine. Wouldn’t want you to be caught in an undesirable situation now would we?”  Mycroft cast one last glance over his shoulder. A clear challenge that he knew he had Sherlock under thumb for now.   
  
The detective narrowed his eyes. “Yes fine get out of my flat and go terrorize a cake shop.” 

* * *

  
  
John couldn’t get it out of his head, Sherlock was alive and he just…hit him. On the one had the git deserved it for lying; but on the other, that disruption had saved John from making the biggest mistake ever. He had just begun to think it was all right to move on because he had to. It wasn’t healthy to be alone, that’s what his therapist had said. He had gone to that dinner with Mary with the small black velvet box in his coat pocket. He was just about to do it when that smooth baritone voice broke through his mind like a tornado. 

Now here he was, standing on the curb in front of 221b Baker St.  Two weeks later and it was clear to even Mary that John could not quit Sherlock Holmes. If it was unnatural so be it he just didn’t give a damn anymore. He was tired of denying what he felt and running away from a ghost.   
  
The soldier squared up his shoulders and fished that well-worn key from his jacket. He was going to climb those stairs just as he had done for years, only this time he was going to go in that flat and tell Sherlock the truth. Even if the detective couldn’t give him back the feelings, he was looking for it didn’t matter. That could be enough for John. Just being there, just staying by Sherlock’s side.   
  
John made it half way up when something warm and cloying teased his nostrils, it beckoned him in like a siren of the deep threatening to drown him. In an instant, the alpha fought away the instinct to hunt down the owner of that erotic aroma and griped the banister to ground him.   
It was coming from the flat but…unless Sherlock had an omega in there. No, John truly doubted that. Still, people can change after two years. In addition, if that scent was any indication then the omega was in preheated already and John’s presence would not be welcomed at all.   
  
Resigned to leave; maybe just send Sherlock a text or come back next week, John turned and started down. However he was meet at the bottom of the stairs by his former Landlady ‘not housekeeper’ Ms. Hudson.   
  
“My hello John dear have you come home to us then? I’m sure Sherlock will be please considering.” She winked and handed John a box of grocery. “Off you go dear, careful though the poor thing is a bit not good, you should have known better than to keep him waiting. You know I adore you both but I’m not your House keeper.”   
  
Before John could even stop her or ask what the devil she was, talking about the small woman had scurried off into her own flat. The Doctor looked down into the box, bottle water, cup noodles, protein bars, Alpha body spray and a narrow black box with a white font printed ‘Little Helper’. John blushed to the tip of his ears, he was aware of what that last one was. He had dated omegas before and knew a heat aid when he saw one. Why was Ms. Hudson the one to go and get these things, if Sherlock had some omega in there he should have been the one to get the supplies for them.  
  
“Maybe  ...A friend or... No Sherlock doesn’t have friends other than me...” John said to himself as he slowly crept back up the stairwell. Sherlock wouldn’t keep a client here, he might be a sociopath but he’s still an alpha and wouldn’t stand a chance against temptation. Even John was having a hard time calming down his heart rate as he reached to door.   
  
He pushed it open slowly and the wave hit him in the face. God who ever Sherlock had in here really should have gone to an omega hostel or a family member because really this was dangerous. “Sherlock?”   
  
“Oh god... No” A deep voice muttered from the kitchen.   
  
John looked up to see Sherlock in nothing but his bathrobe his hair wet and curled at the ends, drops of water turning the powder blue dressing gown dark at his shoulders where the water dappled the fabric.  
  
 John knew with that first breath that he’d been lied to again. 

“Its…you  ...You’re…” The doctor stuttered the box dropping out of his grasp.   
  
“John I...I couldn’t tell you I couldn’t tell anyone. You know how things are; even if it’s not as bad as it used be I still could not have done the Work if anyone knew. You wouldn’t have stayed if you knew why are you even here now? For god sakes John say something!” Sherlock was half shouting half pleading.   
  
Watson crossed the distance faster than he intended to and corned the omega in the kitchen. “You idiot! You absolute idiot!”  He sounded so angry yet he was smiling and that put Sherlock off.   
  
“John... Now just... It’s the hormones I think that perhaps you should go before you do something you will regret.   
  
“I won’t, would you?” John cut him off. The question swimming the that brilliant manic mind  
  
Sherlock backed himself into the corner, his shoulders rolled forward and arms tighten around his middle. “You wouldn’t? What about Mary, what about …John you shaved your mustache. Why would you…I said I didn’t like it and now it’s gone. You’re here and you’re smiling, your eyes are dilated and your posture is open considering I have been lying to you about my nature since we meet and yet…you’re not angry.”   
  
“I’m not angry, not really; I could understand why you would hide it. Maybe not entirely, why you would hide it from me but I get it. I even understand why you … well you know, why you did what you did and went away.” John couldn’t say ‘why you died’ it sounded too strange and brought up feelings he wasn’t ready to revisit.  Moreover, there was so much right now so much wonderful feelings being this close to Sherlock at the moment. Everything in his biology was screaming to protect, comfort, and claim.   
  
Sherlock looked down if it was possible he was trying to make his frame smaller with little success, damning these hormones for making his tremble before John. Damn them for making his voice waver and his throat thick with emotions, horrible tedious emotions that made his eyes blur. “You … don’t hate me?”   
  
That sealed it, that quivering in the detectives tone that shattered Johns resolve. The alpha moved forward and carefully wrapped his arms around the taller man. Feeling how much thinner Sherlock was and how he shook in Johns arms. “I could never hate you, I… I love you Sherlock. I always have.” 

Slowly large hands slid around Johns back and griped his coat. He felt Sherlock relax and his head find the crook of John’s neck, fluttering warm uneven breaths over the sliver of skin about the collar of his shirt. “John…”   
  
“Shhh, I’m here now, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”   
  
That was the most beautiful thing Sherlock had ever heard, above every symphony and carefully composed note. That promise was enough because it was true and real and...John. He always thought love was a chemical defect, a trait of the losing side that motivated people to do terrible things. A tedious useless emotion that made humanity weak and dull, but was not. Because Love was why he jumped, love was why he had spent two years of his life with little more than the clothes on his back doing everything in his power to destroy a lunatic’s network. Love was John.   
  
“I love you John.” 


End file.
